Requiem For the Ronin
by saikan blue
Summary: Some time after Fuu, Mugen and Jin went their separate ways fate brings them crashing back together. Specters of the past are stirred as the trio face off against a gang of ronin ruffians. Ch. 17: Plotting
1. Falling Rain

All the usual disclaimers apply. I do not own Samurai Champloo and I'm not making any money off this.

* * *

_Fuu, Mugen and Jin meet up again and a gang of ronin ruffians don't stand a ghost of a chance. (Potential spoilers for the entire series.)_

_

* * *

_

**Requiem For the Ronin**  
By Saikan Blue

**Prologue: Falling Rain**

Sometimes, Shiori was afraid to walk the narrow path deep into the woods beyond the village of Torikorosu. Often, she just wanted to stay within the safety of her home, but to wilt like a cut flower was not how her father had raised her and it certainly was not a trait her husband, old fool that he was, would tolerate.

If he could fight the Shinku Kiba, then she could too, in her own way.

Her youth had left her many years ago and wisps of gray were visible in her neatly tended hair, but spryness still possessed her steps as she walked down the nearly overgrown path. It seemed less and less that people traveled it to the shrine.

Though she did not blame them. Few wanted to be caught wandering about alone and chose to stay close to the shrine at the edge of the village to make their prayers and offerings.

Water squished underfoot as she moved quickly. While the sky looked ominous, the rains had abated for the time being and she took the opportunity to do as she had done daily for the better part of a year.

A small smile rose to pale painted lips as she passed beneath the torii that overlooked the path. The gate suffered, much like the path, from abandonment. The orange paint was chipped and faded allowing the rain to soak the wood beneath.

In the fifteen years that she had called Torikorosu home, she had never seen the shrine so unkempt. The villagers had always shown such love and pride toward the sacred place.

Traveling deeper into the surrounding grove, she struggled to not allow her anger to overcome her. Though, the mere thought of those men who called themselves the Shinku Kiba only made her want to scream. They were cruel, hateful men who had imposed their will on the village. These men—ronin—who had banded together had lost all sense of honor and abandoned the code of bushido. Assuming, she thought darkly, they had ever had it to begin with.

Callus men who shown no respect for tradition.

Animals.

Now her village, her home, was held hostage by these thugs who demanded and took whatever they wanted, the mercy of not being on the end of their sword the only payment.

A few drops of rain fell from the sky and splashed into the basin cut from a boulder near the edge of the path that lead to the small shrine. Shiori paused there and picked up the ladle that had fallen to the ground next to the stone. Fingers carefully cleaned the bits of grass stuck to it before dipping it into the water.

Exhaling deeply, she calmed her mind as she performed the cleansing ritual.

The small shrine was merely a roof, sheltering a box that held the rusted, broken remains of a sword at the back and an offering box just inside the shelter. She approached and dug a mon out from the folds of her obi that she had stashed away before leaving home and tossed the coin into the offering box.

Rain fell, dotting her pale blue kimono as she bowed twice, and then clapped her hands before her before offering a final bow and a soft prayer.

"Nobumura, you protected our village against marauders during times of great strife. You gave your life defending the bridge against those who would do harm the villagers. For that sacrifice we have always honored and celebrated your life, but now I fear our village is again in danger. I beg you now for your guidance and help."

And like she did everyday, she waited, hoping for some sign that the noble spirit of Akita Nobumura had heard her.

Her hands sank to her sides as she straightened. Beyond the walls of the shrine, through the grove that surrounded the sacred ground, she could hear the mighty Subayai crashing over the rocks and against the banks as it flowed, maddened by the rain, through the valley.

A gasp escaped her as she turned.

Towering over her stood a man in dark green.

"Hisuiiro," she whispered, retreating to the edge of the shrine.

"It is a foul day for a lady to be taking a walk in the woods," he said coolly.

She brushed her hand along the offering box. "I was praying."

Hisuiiro was not like the other members of the Shinku Kiba. They were little more than animals, but Hisuiiro was handsome and possessed a countenance not found in lower men. He reminded her of the men in her father's service when she was a child. Killers, every last one, but they were not animals.

A part of her wondered how he lost his way, but she knew. She could see it in his eyes that there was nothing but hatred and cruelty and no manner of background and schooling would change that.

"Does Nobumura hear your prayers?" he asked in a tone that betrayed the kind of man he had known himself to be.

Fearfully, Shiori looked to the ground even as hot tears burned in her eyes.

"I didn't think so." Ice filled the air. He held his hand out to her. "Come Shiori. I'm sure your husband worries about you running off to the woods like this."

"He—"

"Oh yes, he's out of town for a few days. It must be nice to be a doctor and feel so needed by so many. Though I am disappointed that Umeko has traveled with him. I enjoy her company."

Shiori narrowed her gaze. "She does not enjoy yours." Her braveness abandoned her under Hisuiiro's icy look. Looking away, she added through clenched teeth, "All she sees in you, is her husband's murderer."

Without a word, he pulled her from the shrine and into the rain where he drew an umbrella and opened it, holding it protectively over her head. As if not hearing her last statement, he said, "I feel it is my duty to look out for you in his absence. These woods are dangerous you know. One cannot guess what dangers lurk in the shadows."

Shiori glanced back at the shrine as she was being led away, her heart aching. Something told her she would not see it again.

* * *

_**Next Chapter** – Jin crosses a bridge.  
_


	2. Drowning in Blood

**Chapter One: Drowning in Blood**

Rain.

Like an infinite army marching through the Migoto valley, it hammered down on the winding road. Every drop pelted the trees that sheltered the narrow path, gathering then splashing down in great gushes on the sparse travelers below.

Few ventured out into the dreariness, even after more than four days of rainfall. A miasma hung over the valley with the fear the sun would never shine again. Yet, no matter how ominous the dark clouds were, nor relentless the driving rain or the clap of thunder that rolled through the valley, none of it could rival the power of the Subayai.

Cutting through the valley, like a katana through the air, the river that interconnected so many villages was swollen and raging. It tore away the banks and flooded the fields and villages deep within the valley like a demon unleashed upon the land.

In its aggravated state, no boats could safely sail it and no one could travel from village to village with ease.

Not that Jin had any money for such a luxury.

His sandals sank in the softened road, the white tabi darkened with mud. Every step was a struggle, for without care and he would loose a sandal.

Or worse.

His gi clung to his form, soaked with rain and matching the angry sky above. Even the edges of his hakuma were thick with mud. He was soaked to the bone and wished only for a dry place for the night.

Though for hours—_had it really been hours_—he had seen no place accommodating or even relatively dry if only for a little while. The roar of the Subayai, just beyond the bushes and rocks that lined the path nearly drowned out the thunder, as the sky seemed to redouble its efforts to make his journey all the more difficult.

The rain pelted him, harder with every passing step.

Around a small grouping of trees, the path opened up revealing a bridge and beyond it, appearing out of the gloom was a village. Sheltered lanterns glowed warmly, as if beckoning with the promise of a dry place to rest.

Where the muddy road hardened under a carpet of stone leading to the gently arching bridge that reached across a narrow in the Subayai, Jin stopped.

As natural as an exhale, he brought his left hand up, lightly pressing his thumb against the guard of his katana. There would never be enough rain to drown out the scent of blood. Fluidly turning about as he brought up his right hand drawing the sword with such speed that even nature tried to imitate. Lightning licked across the sky casting an electric glow across the blade.

Not thirty paces away stood a man, equally soaked, his face sheltered with a straw hat. Jin had passed him earlier on the road. He had been walking just ahead of some farmers towing a cart with their oxen.

"Yes," the man hissed as he stepped forward. His deep green gi was nearly black with moisture. He shifted his hand slightly drawing attention to the daisho at his side. "I was right when I saw you, an excellent challenge. I haven't had one in a while." He tipped his chin up, revealing a cruel grin. "At least not an opponent who lived long enough to be of any entertainment."

Jin remained in guard. "Is this what you have come too? A common street fighter, hunting for opponents?"

Calmly approaching, but making no move to draw his weapon, the man replied, "Do not act so above me. We are the same. We are the wolves. Making our way by any means necessary." He motioned toward the bridge. "And my means is this village. And we do not welcome stray dogs here."

Narrowing his gaze, Jin adjusted his hold on his weapon. Beneath his feet, the stone path was slick as he shifted slightly. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled overhead as the bridge creaked and groaned under the strain of the raging Subayai.

The dark dressed figure reached up and discarded his straw hat allowing it to tumble into the mud. Rain splashed against his tonsured forehead and gave a soft, reflective glow of the overhead lightning across a wet topknot. There was deliberateness about the man as he took his time drawing his weapon. "I am Kyoudai of the Shinku Kiba and you are trespassing," he said gravely as he raised his sword above his head. "Like in any good wolf pack, interlopers in our territory will be killed."

Even before the last word was spoken, Kyoudai was in motion. The muddy road, the standing water and even the battering rain seemed impotent against him.

Jin bound back, driven to the edge of the stone path, the muddy road hampering him. The cut of the other man's blade slashed through his blue-grey gi and second-layer kimono.

Dark laughter as a thin stripe of red glistened on the Kyoudai's blade. "Perhaps I was mistaken!" Silver cut through the air.

Blades clashed, as Jin rebuffed the attack, turning about and blocking the follow up strike.

The wood of the bridge was slick from the rain, his sandal slid and he nearly lost his footing as he retreated before Kyoudai could completely recover. There was something wild about the man's fighting style, slipping from the accepted to the nontraditional.

It almost reminded him of that madman Mugen.

Allowing the tip of his blade to drop, Jin brushed off the stray thought as he checked the cut on his arm. It was barely a flesh wound, but far closer than he would have liked. Capitalizing on his apparent distraction his opponent rushed into attack, but found himself caught in a ruse.

Jin slapped the man's blade away and then traded a series of lightning quick cuts ending with a thrust to Kyoudai's abdomen.

The man struggled beyond Jin's extended reach. "Perhaps I was wrong. You are more of a challenge." He straightened even as red stained his kimono. "Tell me," he said through gritted teeth, "where did you learn your skill."

At first, Jin remained poised to finish the fight, but then relaxed, ever so slightly, but never lowered his guard. He adjusted his footing, the raging river below was buffeting the bridge supports and the vibrations were nearly as violent as the waters passing beneath. "Mujushinkenjutsu-ryu," came the simple reply.

Kyoudai laughed. "Never heard of it." He raised his sword once more but the blade wavered when a voice tore over the roar of the Subayai.

"Brother!"

Jin turned to glance over his shoulder at a younger man, in the same dark green racing to the bridge from the village. Reaching the edge of the bridge, he drew his katana, effectively trapping Jin between the two Shinku Kiba swordsmen.

"Yamainu," Kyoudai growled. "Stay back, this is my kill."

The bridge shook violently, nearly sending Jin and Kyoudai to their knees. A large tree trunk slammed into the bridge, it's gnarled roots sticking up out of the rushing water.

Reaching out and grabbing the thin rail for support, Kyoudai looked his opponent over. He stole a glance to Yamainu. "Whatever happens, Little Brother, don't let this dog step foot into the village. It will give those fools hope."

Fear danced in Yamainu's eyes as Kyoudai let go of the rail and moved to the center of the bridge.

"The only thing in this poor village of interest, not worth, is their sad little shrine to some guy who died generations ago. He lost a duel on the bridge and drowned." A vile grin spread across Kyoudai's face. "Looks like they'll have to expand the shrine." Once more, Kyoudai defied nature and closed the space between he and Jin at a preternatural speed.

Jin sidestepped, trading slashes.

_Too fast. _

As if Kyoudai knew every move he was about to make, counterstriking at every turn, Jin struggled to keep one step ahead. A sea of red flooded the gloom as Jin gritted his teeth against the pain. He stumbled, falling against the rails. Fire laced through him from twin slashes to his back and side.

Kyoudai lunged, ready for the kill.

Blades clattered together as Jin twisted out of the way of a killing blow. He caught the man just above the elbow. Kyoudai growled as he rounded on the younger man but he wasn't fast enough.

Quick. Efficient. And over with the grate of steel on bone.

"No!" Yamainu howled as he stormed onto the bridge just as Kyoudai slid off Jin's blade, crumpling to the ground. Rage, checked only by terror, shown in Yamainu's eyes as he looked from his dead brother to the man that had killed him. "You bastard," he snarled as he held his blade out, ready to attack.

Holding steady in guard, Jin stood motionless with his blade at his side.

The rain fell relentlessly between them, obscuring the shadows.

Yamainu flew across the bridge, it thumped and vibrated under every step. His blade flashed, reflecting the storm overhead. His attack was swiftly countered and before he could follow up was sent on the defensive as Jin twisted about blocking him and then stepping into a thrust. Yamainu swept back around, driving his blade forward.

Victory was tempered by an agonized cry. Blood oozed down his blade as he fell against the rails.

Jin stumbled back. His wet clothing twisting around his limbs. His gi sliced open at the left shoulder and stained red. He fell to the wet bridge with a splash. The pale wood was painted crimson from the blood washing into the rain.

Pushing to his feet, he stumbled a few steps but found Yamainu mirroring him.

"Why won't you die?"

A faint smile traced across Jin's face. "You are not the first to ask that. You will not be the last."

"You will not enter Torikorosu," Yamainu said as he took position, blocking the end of the bridge again. He howled as he lunged forward. "I'll kill you!"

The clang of blades rang out over the thunder.

Throwing himself out of the way of a powerful down cut that sliced into the thin railing, Jin hit the bridge floor again. He blocked a second attack and kicked up, landing his foot in the middle of Yamainu's abdomen.

On his feet, he struggled to fend off the relentless attack. He was driven against the slashed railing. Wood splintered under his weight. He tried to escape the follow up attack but the rail gave way.

Yamainu surged forward, hacking at the rail and sending Jin tumbling into the raging Subayai before he collapsed to the bridge floor in exhaustion, gripping at his own belly wound.

* * *

Thanks for the kind replies roterritter, Elementary Magpie, and poornmiserable.

* * *

_**Next Chapter** – Enter Mugen. _


	3. Rumble in the Teahouse

**Chapter Two: Rumble in the Teahouse**

"What an animal," Yasu hissed under her breath as she stepped into the kitchen of the small teahouse. The peach dressed girl held her tray clutched to her chest as she shook her head in disgust. "I thought he was going to bite my hand when I reached across the table to pick up the used skewers." She stared at her fingers for a moment, as if checking to see all were still attached, then spinning about, she peered around the opening back into the dining area at the man in the red jacket that had her so put out.

He was hunched over a bowl of rice shoveling it in as fast as he could.

Yasu made a face. "That is just so…so uncivilized!"

"Not so loud," Koichi, the owner, whispered as he scooped rice from a steaming pot into a bowl. "He'll hear."

The object of everyone's attention, Mugen, happily snatched the small sake cup up from the table and downed the last bit of liquid. He licked his lips, savoring the taste mixed with rice and eel, before slamming the cup to the edge of the table. "Refill!" he barked, spewing half chewed food and spittle everywhere.

Groaning, Yasu clapped a hand over her mouth. "That's awful." She then squeaked as Koichi shoved her out into the room with orders to refill Mugen's cup. She grabbed the sake jug roughly as she quickly wove her way around mostly empty tables, passed a man in a maroon kimono sitting off to the edge of the room surrounded by three big samurai.

Cool, moist air blew in through the short curtain draped across the doorway making Yasu shiver as she came to a stop before Mugen's table. Sake sloshed into the small cup and then after tipping the jug back up, she reached for the plate piled high with used skewers. A low growl between mouthfuls of food made her withdraw her hand quickly as Mugen glared over the top of the bowl he had up to his mouth.

"What a rude fellow," the round-faced man in the maroon kimono said rather loudly. His men paused and looked back over their shoulders at Mugen. Each grunted in agreement before returning to their meal. Not satisfied with his men's acknowledgement, he set his bowl down and laid the chopsticks across the top. For a time, he just glared at Mugen, but the peachy color of Yasu's kimono drew his attention away. He smiled darkly as the girl moved through the teahouse.

The bang of the sake cup being smashed to the table across the room again drew the man's attention away. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

"More!" Mugen bellowed.

Koichi froze in the kitchen, then slowly drew his hands up to his gray head. "Oh dear."

"What?" Yasu said as she turned to look back into the main room.

"Magistrate Juemon is upset." He grabbed up a plate of skewered eel and shoved it toward the girl. "Give this to him, compliments of the house."

"But—"

"Just do it!

Yasu skittered over to the Magistrate's table. "Compliments of the house," she said with a strained smile as she set the plate down.

Juemon looked the steaming eel over suspiciously, and then slid the plate toward his three men. He motioned toward Mugen. "It seems Koichi lets any sort of trash in these days."

Following his hand, Yasu frowned. "Sir, with all the rain, business has been quite slow."

"That's no excuse for lowering your standards."

From behind a skewered squid, Mugen paused to eye the man, then with two big bites, stripped the meat from the wood.

"Nothing but common trash!" Juemon loudly sneered. He glanced passed Yasu to a nervous looking teahouse owner peeking out of the kitchen. "Koichi! Throw that low class dog out! He's disturbing my meal."

Shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, Koichi raced over to the table, bowing. "But he is a paying customer!"

The round-faced man's eyes narrowed as he spoke in a low tone. "Then you will give me my meal for free as it has been ruined. You will also give my men their food on the house for the next month for clearing such refuse from your establishment." He glanced toward Mugen who was starting his third bowl. Threat hung in his voice. "A bad reputation would ruin business, would it not?"

Koichi's lip trembled and he bit it as he bowed again. "Yes, yes. You are quite right." The fear was rich in his voice. "All your meals are on the house for a month. So terrible to disturb you."

Raising his hand, Juemon snapped his fingers.

Mugen had been listening to everything, as he always did, but barely paused between shovelfuls of rice to take a breath. People tended to be freer with their words if they thought he was not listening.

Sometimes he picked up some useful information.

Other times, it just pissed him off.

Damn, he thought as the three gray dressed samurai rose from the other table, he wasn't finished eating yet.

The sweet smelling, peach dressed waitress walked past, swinging a sake jug on the end of a braided cord. Dropping his rice bowl, Mugen was in motion. Before Yazu could scream, he had pulled the rope from her hand, swung the jug about and launched it across the room.

Clay shattered as it smashed into the face of the nearest samurai sending him tumbling backward. Before the other two could draw their swords, Mugen leapt up on the bench, then on top of the table. A wild kick sent the half filled rice bowl airborne. The taller of the two samurai batted it away with his sword as he charged the wild man.

Easily bounding out of the way of the down cut, he flipped through the air, a metal-soled geta battering the attacker in the chest as he flipped and landed squarely on a nearby table. "Is this all you bitches got?" he snarled as he reached back and drew his sword, blocking the third man's attack.

Juemon remained calm ignoring the fight as he picked a grain of rice off his dark sleeve. "No manners at all."

"Please," Koichi begged as he ran to the table the wild haired man was perched on. "Take your fight outside."

"I'm not the one who started it," Mugen said as he rebuffed the attack, bounding from table to table, just to see if the samurai would chase after him. The muscles of his arms strained as he fought to hold his ground against the remaining attacker. "You move fast for a big guy," he smirked. "But not fast enough!"

Somersaulting off one table and over to the one occupied by the Magistrate, Mugen grabbed up the complimentary eel as he completed the move. Fanning the three skewers out, he stripped one with a chomp as he fended off the last samurai with a one handed swing of his blade.

"Your boys look scary," he mumbled through the mouthful of eel, "but they're nothing but show." He stripped the second skewer as he hopped out of the way of a wild swing. "I fought better as a brat with a stick." Third skewer cleaned.

Driving the tip of his blade into the table, Mugen flipped the skewers about and stabbed his opponent with two of them. The man screamed as he dropped his katana and fell to the floor writhing in agony.

With the third skewer he turned, pausing only long enough to use the pointed tip to pick a piece of meat from between his teeth then flew down to his knee. His hand moving so fast that Juemon could not respond before the skewer with driven through his hand and between two tightly fitted planks of the table.

The Magistrate howled and tried to jerk back but his hand was pinned in place.

From another plate, Mugen picked up another skewer. Then held an empty hand out to the shaking man. "Your money or I'll pin the other hand to the table."

Tears streamed down Juemon's face as he glared at the rude fellow he had so happily insulted earlier. After only a moment, he relented and reached into his gi. Just as his hand appeared, gripping a small pale yellow coin bag, he froze. Gritting his teeth together, pain faded into rage. "Diagoro!" he barked.

Mugen tipped his head back in surprise. "Huh?"

Vibrations rocked the teahouse and the table he was crouched on. Rings formed on the surface of a full cup sitting near the edge. The light that spilled in through the doorway fell into shadow as something very large obscured the opening.

"What the hell?" he asked as he rose to his feet and scratched his shaggy head. Reaching calmly to his side, he grabbed the hilt of his sword and drew it from the table.

Juemon's voice was tight with pain. "You've signed your own death warrant."

The frame cracked as a veritable giant forced his way in through the small opening. Beady eyes stared out over a smashed in nose as the beast of a man growled. "Yeah, boss?"

Furiously pointing up at the man standing on his table, Juemon hissed, "I want this man to die slowly, do you understand Daigoro? Make him suffer."

Growling, Mugen kicked over a sake jug spilling liquid all over the Magistrate's skewered hand. A shrill shriek tore through the teahouse.

"You scream like a girl," he said in disgust before hopping off the table and hitting the floor with a thud.

"Kill him!" Juemon barked.

The nearly toothless Daigoro offered up a foul smile. "Yes, boss." From a shoulder strapped scabbard, the big man pulled a straight sword and held it out before him menacingly.

Mugen cocked a brow then shrugged absently. "Am I supposed to be scared?" Grinning, he added, "Are you a tough guy, because I only fight tough guys." Before the last word left his mouth, he was in motion, burning across the room, his geta thundering over the floor planks as he closed the distance to the large man.

Daigoro offered a toothless grin as he swung his thick arm sweeping his long weapon in front of him.

Bounding back, ducking as he lunged, Mugen avoided the deadly cut as he somersaulted through a follow up attack, dropping a geta into Daigoro's chest.

It was like slamming into a stone wall.

Air exploded from Mugen's lungs as he was thrown to the floor, landing flat on his back with a dull thud. "Wha—"

He didn't get the word out before he twisted out of the way of the long blade as it slammed down just a finger's width from his right ear.

"Hey! Watch it!" He snapped as he threw himself out of the way of another swing, spinning up onto his shoulder as he narrowly avoided being chopped in half.

"Stay still!" Daigoro roared.

"And let you cut me?" Flipping over, Mugen kicked out again, catching the back of Daigoro's knee. He sent the man stumbling forward as he surged to his feet. Blades crashed together but Mugen was quicker.

Red gushed, splattering at his feet as Daigoro fell to the floor but he did not linger to examine his handiwork as he raced for the door. Pushing through the dark blue curtains into the rain heavy afternoon he found himself surrounded by a dozen grey dressed men.

The hiss of blades being drawn filled the air as a wicked grin slid across his face. He playfully motioned to the samurai. "Come and get me."

* * *

Thank you to Elementary Magpie, roterritter, and poornmiserable for taking the time to read. :)

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - Fuu Fuu go poof! _


	4. Crash

**Chapter Three: Crash**

Large raindrops fell sparsely about, thudding against the ground, the wooden path that ran between the rows of small shops and against the buildings themselves. Fuu heard the sound and sighed, knowing the rain would quickly get heavier. Again.

She decided on the second full day of rain she really hated it. Four days had passed and she just felt depressed.

"It will never stop," she whispered to herself as she wandered through the crowded rows of dried foods, past Hiroko, the wife of the shop owner.

The older woman smiled as she continued to sweep the floor. "But when it stops and it gets dry for weeks on end, you will be wishing for rain," she said between strokes of the straw broom. "I know this must seem dull, sparse customers at best during the rains, but I promise you, when the crowds break, everyone will be here needing fresh supplies." She paused to offer a small smile.

"I know," Fuu said, trying to sound happy but it quickly faded as she stopped her dusting and twisted the rag in her grip. "It's the rain makes me feel sad." She smiled but when she saw Hiroko's concerned look, she quickly twisted away, the flush of embarrassment rushing to her cheeks. She pretended to rub out a smudge on the sleeve of her pink kimono but she could still feel Hiroko's eyes on her back.

Slinging the cleaning cloth over her shoulder, she walked to the door and stared out into the grim afternoon. The rain had left her feeling strangely melancholy and lacking the energy to clean. Though it wasn't as if she really enjoyed such a task the rest of the time, it just felt worse this day. Allowing another deep sigh to escape her, she fell up against the doorframe and stared out into the still street.

Behind her, she could hear Hiroko sweeping again. The woman and her husband had been very kind to her since they met more than a month earlier when she had wondered into the village at the edge of the Migoto valley broke, hungry, tired and really wanting a bath. She had no real plan and little idea of where she was going but she had heard from other travelers that the Migoto Valley was the place to go. That it was more beautiful than she could imagine and the people, while old fashioned, were very friendly and welcoming to travelers and pilgrims along the road. The village of Kanmon had been everything she imagined and had not traveled deeper into the valley.

Hiroko had seen her at the teahouse, trying to scrounge enough money together for a little food and some tea and asking the host if there were any openings. When the owner said no, Hiroko had stepped up and offered her room and meals if she would help her run the shop, as her husband was often ill and unable to work much.

She could ask for nothing more. After all, she had good people to work for, a dry place to sleep and plenty to eat. The shop specialized in dry foods so there was always plenty of rice and beans, dried sweat potato and other things about and there was always fresh fish from the Subayai that flowed nearby. Though with all the rain, the river was high and angry and few would brave fishing in it so that had been a little sparse.

Really, she thought, she would be selfish if she asked for more. She never expected to have so much as it was. Not that she expected anything. Though, she quietly admitted, this wasn't exactly what she had imagined her life being like.

"It could be worse."

Turning with a wide-eyed look, Fuu saw a smiling Hiroko. The woman had read her mind. "How did you—"

"You could not have a shelter over your head," the woman said before tucking the broom away and picking up a rag and going over a bowed shelf with it.

Shrugging, Fuu said, "It's not so bad sleeping out under the moon…when it's not raining." Memories flooded through her, brightening in her eyes. "It's really peaceful out in the woods. The fireflies dancing about, the breeze through the trees, it's nothing like living in a village with people and noise. I could listen to the crickets chirp and Mugen's stomach—"

The words almost seemed trapped in her throat, threatening to strangle her. "It was mostly peaceful," she whispered. For a time, she just watched the heavy clouds overhead roll across the sky before she worked up the strength to speak again. "We usually found some sort of shelter when it was wet or cold out. Not always the best but it was something." She paused for a moment. "There were plenty of times we managed to get up something for an inn. Those were always wonderful," she added happily. "Jin and Mugen—"

Startled, she reached up, pressing her hand to her throat, as if it would save her from choking on her words.

_Her memories. _

It had been many months since she had whispered their names out loud. In the beginning, after they had parted ways, she had cried when she thought of them and ached because she was so lonely, but she had moved passed it. She had too, because she feared she would die of grief if she did not.

She had survived pirates, ronin, and numerous would-be assassins; she would not let something as transient as loneliness be the death of her.

Twisting slightly, she looked back at Hiroko who had concern painted across her matronly features. It occurred to her that she had told the woman almost nothing about herself, save her parents were dead and she was just wandering from place to place trying to find…something.

"Are they your brothers?" Hiroko asked.

"My bodyguards." A breath. "My friends." A smile as a burden slipped from her shoulders. It was a strange feeling to say that. For so long since they had parted she pretended the things that had happened didn't, that they were figments of stories her mother had told her as a child. She could not speak of what she had done, or of the men who had accompanied her on her journey to find the samurai who smelled of sunflowers.

Even when the burden of her memories grew so strong that she wanted to burst, she knew that Hiroko and her husband would not have been so kind or willing to give her a room and meals if they thought her to be unclean by their conservative standards.

She did not know why she had just revealed her secret. She did not know if she would lose the bit of stability she had found because of it, but a little part of her did not care.

The longing for adventure had been ever present in her heart. It ached with every passing day but she had grown used to it. At least she thought she had.

"I never wanted our journey to end." She sighed as she lightly pulled on the rag in her grip. "I guess I should have been more up front with you."

Hiroko leaned against counter back by the door to stairs leading to their living quarters and Fuu's little room as she carefully studied the girl. "Who hired these bodyguards to travel with you? Did they work for your family?"

Looking past the woman, Fuu stared at the gray curtain draped across the door leading to the room she had called home for a while now. "I..we…um." A sheepish grin lit Fuu's youthful features. "I helped save them from being executed by the local governor on the condition they helped me find my father." Fuu wasn't sure, with the dim light of the store, but she thought Hiroko had paled. "I know it's a strange way to start out a journey, but I trusted them…most of the time." She folded the rag into a neat square and laid it on a nearby shelf next to small bags of rice flour. "They were really tough, Mugen was…Jin, he," each time the words drifted off. "They rescued me when I ended up in a brothel…the first, no second time. Wait, both times. And they usually got me out of trouble when I was taken hostage." She thoughtfully pressed a finger to her chin. "Now which time was that? Honestly, there were so many times that that I can't remember."

Hiroko just stared at her with wide, horror-filled eyes.

Matter-of-factly, Fuu went on. "Not to mention how many times I was almost killed." She started to count on her fingers the incidents but gave up when she ran out of fingers. "Come to think of it, I would probably have been better off on my own." She was about to say more, but stopped as a group of sword carrying men raced passed. "What was the about?"

"They are not looking for you are they?" Hiroko asked worriedly.

"Oh no," Fuu said happily as she waved her hand in front of her face.

Another group of gray dressed samurai raced by.

The older woman retreated behind the counter. "That is the Magistrate's men," she said in a worried voice. "Something terrible must have happened if so many are looking for someone."

"Maybe we should close up," the girl said as she grabbed the sliding door, dragging it back over the opening. Just as she nearly had it closed, the door was whipped back open and a blur of red smashed into Fuu slamming her into the floor. "Hey!" she cried out.

Mugen spun about, sending icy droplets of water splattering everywhere just as Fuu looked up. "You!" they snapped simultaneously.

* * *

roterritter, poornmiserable, Elementary Magpie: Hello you to you three again:p Thanks for replying. Oh, and poornmiserable, in answer to your question...well, I'm not giving anything away yet. ;) Expect another chapter in a day or two.

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - Rice and flour and beans, oh my! Mugen makes a mess. _


	5. Explosive Reunions

**Chapter Four: Explosive Reunions**

Getting back to her feet, Fuu flailed her arms about as she screamed: "What are you doing here? Are those men after you? What kind of trouble are you into now?"

"Would you shut up?" Mugen growled as he spun about. At the sound of distant voices, he raised his sword. Blood oozed down the blade.

Hiroko retreated, drawing a hand over her mouth as horror was painted in her eyes. "Please, just leave," she whispered, backing up against the wall. A little gasped escaped her when she could not completely escape the snarling figure.

Stomping her foot, Fuu roared, "Are you listening—"

"Is there a back way out of this place?" he demanded as if not hearing her as he stormed through the small shop and past bags of dried beans and small barrels of other goods.

Nervously Hiroko pointed toward the curtain-draped door at the back. "Please," she begged. "I don't want any trouble. Just leave." Her dark eyes flitted to Fuu who was fuming as Mugen continued to ignore her.

"You idiot," she screeched, "can't you do anything without getting in trouble? Why do you always have to pick a fight?" Frowning, she watched him tear through the shop and out the door. There was no hesitation in her movements as she raced after him into the little room that she had called home for several weeks.

His geta banged against the door, sending it flying off its supports as he marched out into the falling rain.

Fuu squeaked when she saw five swordsmen gathering around him and more coming up the road.

"Kill him!" One of the men barked.

Retreating, Mugen nearly stumbled over her as he ducked back into the shop. She twisted and chased after him. Grabbing Hiroko's hand, she pulled the woman out of the doorway and knocked her to the floor behind the tall counter as swordsmen clamored to push their way into the small shop.

"Not five minutes," Fuu growled as she raced toward the front of the shop. Swords clattered together behind her and Mugen's elbow caught her at the back of the neck and sent her tumbling to the floor between rows of sacked beans and rice. Mugen bound over her, bouncing off the barrels as he traded slashes with the first two men into the shop. "Not five minutes," she repeated, "and he's trying to get me killed."

A wild cut from one of the samurai's sword sliced open a cloth sack spilling red beans down on Fuu's head. She cried out in surprise and skittered away just before the man fell dead at her feet. A pool of blood quickly spread out from beneath him.

She screamed as she crawled away from the gore.

"Is that all you got?" Mugen barked as he threw himself at two more men.

Over the clang of metal, Fuu snarled as she leaned back, pressing her feet to a squat barrel sitting at the edge of one of the rows. "I guess…I have to…do..everything!" She pressed with all her might, knocking the wooden barrel over. More beans spilled out, coating the floor.

The gray dressed samurai slipped and slid over the beans as they struggled to keep their foot and out of the way of Mugen's attack.

With every crossing of blades, Fuu flinched as she tried to stay out of the way of the fighting but the shop was so small that there was no safe spot.

Suddenly the men were on the defensive as Mugen cut through them in a flash of red. His last attack missed as the final man bounded over the bodies of his comrades landing easily. He deftly countered Mugen's strikes, driving the wild haired man toward the corner.

"Hey!" Fuu cried out as she shrank down as Mugen leapt past her. She reached to the barrel at her side, grabbing up a scoop full of rice. Flinging the wooden handle toward the samurai, she pelted him with flying grains. "I just got this place cleaned up!"

Batting away the small projectiles, the samurai snapped, "You little bitch!"

Mugen's metal-soled geta thudded across the tops of several barrels as he took as stab at the distracted man but his attack was rebuffed.

"They're in there!" a muffled voice from outside called out. Three more armed men pushed in through the wide-open front door. "The magistrate's attacker! Get him!"

"Back off!" Mugen growled as he came down on one of the men's chest before bounding on top of a stack of filled sacks. He somersaulted over rice flour bags, grabbing one as he went. Landing with a hard thud near Fuu, he looked to each of the men that had him cornered. A dark look bled across his face as he launched the sack.

_poof_

* * *

Fuu sank to a damp log under the shelter of a leafy tree. Rain thumped against the foliage and battered the road just a dozen paces away. She lightly patted her pale pink kimono, and tried to knock loose the wet rice flour caked to her clothes. "Eww," she groaned as she reached up and felt the stuff in her hair. "I'm covered in goo." She let her hands fall back to her lap. 

Everything had happened so fast, she was thinking about her past and the next thing there were men and swords and flour and running. She sighed. "I didn't get anything." Maybe she should be more careful what she wished for, she had wanted a little excitement, just not quite as much as she got. And to top it all off, she lost her job, the nice place to sleep and steady meals.

Looking up, she stared into the road where the rain showered down on Mugen who just stood there, allowing the flour to wash away. "You did this," she said. Rising to her feet, she pointed at him, "You! I had a life and a bed and food! I was saving money. I was going to—"

"Like you had a plan," he said in a low tone while picking his nose.

"At least I was trying to do something! Instead of wandering about picking fights wherever I go." The fury faded almost as quickly as it had bloomed and she sank back down. "I—"

The words died on her lips.

The truth was, no matter what she told herself, she didn't know what her plans were. She had just been biding her time, hoping…she slowly stood up and walked to the muddy road. Out from under the shelter of the trees the rain was cold as it pelted her, sinking into her thin kimono. It felt strangely good. "Now what do we do?"

"We find food and some place that it ain't raining," Mugen said, rubbing his stomach as he started down the road.

Fuu's own stomach growled and she clutched her belly. She was going to miss the steady meals at the shop. She turned to look down the road they had fled from, toward Kanmon. After she had distanced herself from the village, she decided that she would write Hiroko to thank her and apologize for the mess.

When she looked up, she realized that Mugen was a fair distance ahead. "Hey, wait up!" she called as she raced after him.

* * *

Thank you roterritter, meow, poornmiserable, and Elementary Magpie. I truly appreciate your reviews and am happy to know that people are enjoying my story. I've been really worried about it. :) Hope this is a quick enough update for you, meow! Not to worry (too much) about Jin, Elementary Magpie, he'll be showing up soon.

* * *

_**Next Chapter **- Past Lives. Death on the river. _  



	6. Crossing the Sanzu Part I

**Chapter Five: Crossing the Sanzu River (Part I)**

With the quiet of night, the merciless nature of the rain seemed even more profound as it battered the small village of Torikorosu. The heavier it fell, the more it reminded Shiori of a raging river, invading her mind like a dark specter and taking her back to a place she had tried to forget.

It seemed so long ago, like the passing of a lifetime, when she had plunged into the icy waters and died.

_Shiori's feet hurt; they burned and were riddled with blisters. She could not remember ever walking so much in her seventeen years of life. But she did not complain, this was the path she had chosen, having traded a life of comfort for a life on the run filled with exhaustion and the constant fear of capture. _

_ "I am afraid," she whispered in a voice so young and innocent, that her dreaming self almost didn't recognize it. Hands, soft from the pampered life she had lived gripped the crimson sleeve of the samurai she followed. She wanted to cling to his hand for comfort but she knew that she could not hinder him so. _

_ "Do not be," he said as he guided her down the empty road. _

_ Though his words were weary from the weeks spent on the run, they warmed her. As long as she was with Kiyohito, she knew she could endure anything. _

_ The truth, she knew, was she would have to. They thought they had found a night of respite within the civilized walls of an inn, but it only lasted a few hours, ending when passing travelers spoke of the strange sights they had seen on their journeys. They said Sono samurai had entered into Nishi domain. Stranger, the Nishi had welcomed them and joined in on the hunt for a renegade samurai captain and his "prisoner"._

_ Little did the frightened travelers understand that she was not captive, but rather a willing accomplice. _

_ They had fled the inn and taken the back roads, along the quick moving river that flowed through the Nishi domain hoping to disappear before anyone got wise to them. _

_ Every step seemed a struggle. "I must stop," Shiori said, struggling over the uneven road. _

_ Turning, Kiyohito looked at her worriedly as he brushed a callused finger along her cheek. Glancing about, toward the shadows under the trees, he nodded toward a clearing lined with pockets of growth. "Over there," he whispered, "we can rest for a little while." _

_ The thick grass was a relief compared to the cart-rutted road and Shiori found herself walking a little easier. Finding herself bathed in the bright moonlight that cast an eerie glow over her pale yellow kimono, she walked across the clearing toward the sounds of the river. It seemed so close._

_ A firm hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her back before she got too close to the edge of a cliff overlooking the swift moving waters far below. Startle shortened her breaths as she leaned into his protective hold. She had nearly walked right over the edge. _

_ "Shiori," he whispered drawing her attention. "We should stop this running."_

_ "No!" she said, staring up at him. "No. I will not go back. I will not obey." Her father had intended her to marry a young man who was recently named the magistrate of a small corner of Sono domain. It was a nice, safe and dull position that would afford Shiori a comfortable life with a nice, safe and dull man. _

_ It was not the life she wanted. _

_ She had rebelled against her father's plans and fell in love with a man she should not have, a master swordsman, one of her father, Lord Sono's best. _

_ Twisting, but still pressing to his chest, she stared at the edge of the cliff. "I would rather throw myself into the river, than go back without you."_

_ When he smiled at her, she knew without doubt that she had made the right decision._

_ And then her world fell apart._

_ "Matsuura Kiyohito."_

_ A scream rose to her lips the moment she heard_ that voice_ but terror stole its sound. She could feel Kiyohito push her protectively behind him. Desperately pressing her hands to her mouth, she tried to stifle the sobs that rippled through her. _

_ "No," she whispered. "No." It could not end like this. _

_ Her mother had died when she was very young and as an only child benefited from her father's teachings. He had seen to it that she would fear nothing. Not men, not the sword and certainly not death. The blood of many generations of samurai flowed through her veins. _

_ Until a few weeks ago, she feared nothing. _

_ She had never known true terror, not like what flooded through her at that very moment, she prayed she would never know it again. It robbed her of everything, even her pride. Her mind disconnected from her frozen body and she was hyperaware of everything. _

_ Before her, Kiyohito shifted and she knew he was preparing to draw his sword, to fight and if necessary die defending her. As his stance slowly changed, she looked beyond his shoulder to the man standing not a dozen paces away. _

_ The partially shadowed figure spoke in a cold, even tone, "Step away from him, Shiori."_

_ Tears burned in her eyes as she squeezed them closed. "No," she whispered through gritted teeth. "No, I won't." _

_ "Do not make this more difficult."_

_ Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. Her vision blurry as she opened her eyes and stared at the man, blocking their way back to the road. "I won't." Rage, like the fire of a thousand sunsets, burned in her knowing that her father had sent this man. She aimed a finger toward the moon and demanded, "Go back to my father and tell him that I will not return. Call off his dogs, they will listen to you."_

_ There was frustration in Kiyohito's face as he admonished her. "Brave, Shiori." Soft. Gentle. Rough fingers tipped her chin up. "Were it only so easy, but you know that you cannot make such a request. He serves your father."_

_ Shiori wanted to scream. _

_ These are warriors, her father had once said. These men you do not love. They are incapable of it. They know only obedience, death and the sword. _

_ They are not for you._

_ She reached up and wrapped her thin fingers around his wrist. It was so strong. "Don't."_

_ The crimson dressed samurai turned to look at the figure standing in the shadow of the trees. He spoke evenly, "Your father is worried about you, that's why he sent his best man to find us. To bring you safely home." He tilted his head in acknowledgement of the other man, one of a privileged few whom he would call friend. "Karasu."_

_ From the shroud of darkness stepped the man, he was not dressed in the deep red of the Sono samurai, but he served Shiori's father nevertheless._

_ These men you do not love._

_ Shiori turned to follow his gaze and stared at the samurai blocking their path. The night painted his indigo blue gi in swaths of black. _

_ "Walk past me," Karasu told her as he brought his left hand up, carefully angling his saya as his right hand hovered ready to show why he was nearly unrivaled in the art of the sword. "Keep walking, no matter what you hear. Do not turn around. Just keep walking."_

_ "Do as he says," the crimson dressed samurai said evenly as he took a step back from her. "Whatever happens, do not look back."_

_ Tears flowed down her cheeks even as her shoulders sagged. She understood. She understood in a way few women ever would. Offering a longing look to the man she had given her heart to, she wanted to put words to her feelings but found herself silent. _

_ Her soul ached as she slowly obeyed. As she passed Karasu, she noted that he did not meet her gaze, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. _

_ "I shall never forgive you," she whispered as she passed him._

_ Karasu closed his eyes. "I must obey."_

_ They know only obedience, death and the sword._

_ The moonlight, full and unfettered, fell across her path as she took small steps, drawing farther from the men. Every fiber of her being wanted to turn around and watch. It might be the last time that she saw either one of them alive._

_ For the first time in her life, she flinched at the sound of blades being unsheathed. Her body froze and shuddered with the clang of steel. "No," she whispered but her voice was drowned out by the snap and clatter of furious strikes._

_ Bracing herself, she slowly reached behind her, feeling the smooth lacquered body of her sheathed tanto pressed to the small of her back and tucked into her obi. Drawing it with such fierce speed, she sent the sheath flying across the thick grass and into the dirt road as she spun about and raced toward the battling men. Blades flashed reflecting the pale light as she threw herself between them. _

_ A kill strike barely averted by lightning quick reflexes as Karasu twisted to avoid delivering the blow that would end Shiori's life, his blade slicing into the wide sleeve of her kimono but doing her no harm. _

_ A tiny, terrified sound escaped her as she stared at his equally shocked gaze. She had never seen such an unsettled look on normally cool features. With a trembling hand, she brought up the tanto in her white knuckled grip, holding it threateningly out toward him. _

_ "Aisai," Kiyohito said. _

_ "No," she evenly responded, any fear she had suffered bled away as she rushed forward, driving Karasu back several steps._

_ The tables turned as he suddenly chose to stand his ground, looking from Shiori, past her shoulder to the samurai behind her. And she knew. She knew by the look in his eyes, that he understood. _

_ There was guarded acceptance in Karasu's voice. "Your husband." Slowly, he shifted his stance, remaining in guard as he lowered his sword to his side._

_ For the first time in days, she was no longer afraid. She felt numb inside, save for her own determination. _

_ Behind her, Kiyohito said firmly, "Don't."_

_ There was no doubt in her mind what she had done. She had presented herself as a danger to Karasu, even as she shifted her step to keep herself between he and her husband, Kiyohito. And yet, just as she understood this, she also knew that Karasu would not harm her._

_ These men you do not love. They are incapable of it._

_ In her heart, she knew this was a lie, for her father had loved her mother and she had never known a day when he did not grieve for her. He was no different than these men._

_ She lunged at him, driving the short blade through the air. Her attack was meant to stab, to wound, to kill, but she had no illusions, it was merely an act of futility._

_ The flash of a long blade barely registered in her mind before her tanto was knocked from her hand. A startled cry escaped her as long fingers wrapped around her throat. The hold was loose and though he was not choking her, the air was strangled from her with surprise. Her fingers clawed at the blue silk of his gi, shredding it. Nails dug into pale flesh, tearing red streaks in it, determined to hurt him. Tears blurred her vision as she once more found her voice, "Kill him and you kill me."_

_ There was regret in his eyes, then agony._

_ "Forgive me, my friend," Kiyohito said as he finished driving his long blade into Karasu's back and through his abdomen. "I serve only Shiori." _

_ She felt the grip of her throat loosen, and then fall to her shoulder as if seeking support. She still held his wrist as he slid off the blade that impaled him and sank to his knees. Horror seized her. She knew men died by the sword, but this, not like this. Not in front of her, their blood spilling at her feet. _

_Not because of her._

_Her fingers still held his wrist as his head tilted forward, his face contorted in pain. Through gritted teeth, he managed, "I…obey."_

_"And I want to be free," she said, releasing her hold of his wrist as she retreated from the blood._

_ Voices called from the road. "There they are! Get them!" _

_ Kiyohito straightened; gore dripping from his sword in the moonlight as he turned toward the men racing closer. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the edge of the cliff._

_ She was running on automatic, following her husband, but managed to look back just in time to see Karasu crumple to the ground as Nishi and Sono samurai converged around them._

_ "Matsuura Kiyohito! Release the girl and stand down by the orders of Lord Sono!" one of the men barked as he motioned his men to surround them. _

_ A Nishi samurai aimed his blade at them. "By order of Lord Nishi, stand down!"_

_ She was still staring at Karasu lying in a pool of blood when her husband wrapped his arm around her waist. She gripped the crimson sleeve of his gi. "Take me with you," she said, knowing only a journey to hell awaited them._

_ As the men tightened around them, Kiyohito stepped back and together they stepped off the edge of the cliff._

A scream tore into the night as Shiori sat up, her futon falling away as she stifled her sobs behind her hands. Sweat clung to her brow and for the first time in many years, she was shaking.

* * *

**A/N **– Once again I would like to thank roterritter, Elementary Magpie and poornmiserable for your replies. I really enjoy hearing from readers about their thoughts and what they enjoyed. So thank you so much. I'd love to hear from more:) **Elementary Magpie** - The next post is about a very waterlogged Jin. 

_**

* * *

Next Chapter** - Jin comes up for air._


	7. Crossing the Sanzu Part II

**Chapter Six: Crossing the Sanzu River (Part II)**

Death was as confusing as so many things Jin had often contemplated over the years. He had never really given it much thought, as he believed death to be simple. One moment you are alive, the next you are dead. There was nothing more.

Dancing on the edge of his blade, men rarely had a chance to cry out before it was all over. In that, death was simple, but the truth was, death was far more complex. A siren song that was too difficult to ignore, he felt its cold fingers, the crashing waves of the angry Subayai, wrap around him. The stone that rose out of the rushing waters, that he desperately clung to, may have well been his grave marker. His heart thundered like festival drums as he sank against the stone, too weak to fight the powerful current.

The icy waters that would soon drown him were not an aspect of death he had considered. He knew many died in the rivers, but it was not where he saw his own demise. He had always it on the tip of a blade on solid ground.

In his right hand, he still clung to his sword but lacked the strength to raise his arm or the presence of mind to turn the weapon upon himself and quickly finish it. The cold and his wounds had disconnected his mind from his dying body. The fingers of his left hand still gripped the wet stone, but for how long he did not know. The waves buffeted his form as he allowed his head to rest against the rock.

The caws of an angry bird cut into the haze that filled his mind. The sound lashed out at the might of nature, admonishing it for making life difficult. The defiant beast crowed again, as if impatiently waiting for him to perish in the river so it may feast.

More angry caws filled the air.

A small smile pulled at his lips as the bird's cries reminded him of a girl screaming "idiot" over and over.

Seemed strangely fitting, he dully thought.

Chill waters splashed up against his shoulders as the current threatened to drag him under and smash him into the row of rocks jutting out of the flow just a short distance downstream.

Death was far too complex to contemplate with so little time left.

His grip on the jagged stone slipped and he slid into the violent current.

_From both sides of the floor, varied youthful voices rose up. They called and jeered and voiced their fears while Jin, a mere fifteen-years-old, sat silently listening. He knew he had caused the stir the day before, setting fire to their fears and envy of his skills. _

_ The previous day had ended prematurely when the sparring sessions came to a halt, as no one was willing to face off against him. Not those his age, nor his seniors. _

It will be your burden to bear, _Mariya Enshiro had once said._ Your skill sets you apart from all others.

_ He had long ago grown used to the suspicious looks, the fearfulness in the other's eyes. He had accepted this, as his master had foreseen and focused all of his energy on the sword._

_ Blocking out their voices, he told himself that it was different. _They_ had lives outside the school, family, friends and duties that called to them. _

_ He had only the school and the sword. _

_ The sword would not fail him. _

_ "Enough!" Mariya roared as he rose up from his seat on the small stage at the head of the chamber. The word burned bright in Jin's memories, as crisp and clear as if were all those years ago when it was first uttered. The master fiercely looked about at his now silent disciples. "Every man, no matter how invincible he appears on the surface has a weakness. Every man can be defeated."_

_ A chorus of voices rose up, "Never! Not you, sensei!" _

_ "Even me." All it took was a sharp look and once more his disciples fell silent. He turned to study some of the youngest students to his far left. "Even the most novice should understand this." Stepping from the stage, he strode to the center of the mats, and then slowly turned about and faced each of his students. "For my students to tell me a man is undefeatable, then I have failed as a teacher."_

_ Soft gasps filled the air, but no one dared protest for fear of rebuke._

_ Drawing his hand out to his side, open palmed, he said, "Toshio!" _

_ Immediately one of the senior students was in motion, he retrieved a bokken and handed it off to the sensei. Then, without word, he returned it his place at the edge of the training area alongside his fellow students. _

_ Jin looked to the others and all eyes followed Mariya as he paced about, testing the wooden practice sword in his grip. A lesson was about to be doled out and he waited patiently as he knew an example would soon be made of him. _

_ He studiously followed the sensei across the mat with his eyes. This was the same man at one turn would be the harshest of instructors and at another would be a wise old friend offering advice over a game of shogi. Sometimes the dichotomy confused him and other times, he thought he caught glimpses into his master's true purpose. _

_ He could still see Mariya sitting opposite a shogi board the night before telling a story about a sword smith and how he considered his duties as a teacher to be quite similar. He saw in his training of young men, the tempering of steel into a fine blade. _

_ Though Jin knew this small insight would be forgotten the moment the legendary thousand man killer would call upon him._

_ Suddenly noting the stark look of unhappiness painted in Mariya's face, he came crashing back to the moment. "Jin," the master said as if he had already repeated it more than he pleased. _

_ Nothing else needed to be said as Jin collected a practice sword and joined the teacher on the mat. He found himself watching the students as they watched Mariya continue with his verbal lesson. _

_ "Watch carefully," Mariya said so softly that Jin almost did not catch the words. _

_ The master moved with such power and speed that it left little doubt to his legend as shock rippled through the gathered disciples. _

_ Were Jin any less skilled a swordsman he would have been dead with the first cut of Mariya's blade but he managed to rebuff that attack, only barely missing being struck. The master though was nonplussed racing into a follow up with such ferocity that his fifteen-year-old student, while far superior to his peers, was no match for the teacher._

_ Had it been a real blade he would have had his right side slashed open in a killing strike, but instead, merely took a beating from the unforgiving wood that sent him to the floor winded. _

_ "He favors his left," Mariya announced. "Something I can easily exploit." _

_ Jin blocked an attack and managed to slip out of the way of the series of follow up attacks, being quickly driven across the mat. Students scattered as the combatants knew no bounds. Every one of Jin's attacks was easily—far too easily—rebuffed. There was no opening. _

_ Sweat gathered at his brow as he tried to respond to the shifts in Mariya's stance. _

_ Shattering the youth's defenses, Mariya brought his bokken down, smashing into the Jin's shoulder. He cried out in pain as he stumbled only to be struck across the back by a follow up that sent him to the mat again._

_ "You are allowing my movements to control you," Mariya said as he approached his fallen student. "This constraint hinders you." He drew up his bokken to strike an incapacitating blow._

_ "Sensei!" several of the senior students called out in shock._

_ Capitalizing on the master's moment of hesitation, Jin responded. His first strike would have been a deadly belly wound were he wielding steel. Mariya stumbled back, breathing heavily with shock in his eyes. It bled into determination as a thin smile drew across his face before he went on the offensive. _

_ Like the flitting of a firefly, Mariya seized upon Jin, their practice swords snapping and cracking with each strike. Jin tried to block the more powerful man but found himself repeatedly beaten back. His arms strained as he struggled to hold his position and not be backed against a wall. _

_ "Hurts, does it not?" Mariya asked as he drove Jin across the floor. "You're breathing too hard, your shoulders are tense, you can't fight me like this." He slipped left, twisting into a single-handed strike. "You are desperate now."_

clack

_ Mariya growled as they pressed against their crossed blades, "You are making mistakes." Twisting with such speed, the teacher broke the lock. _

_The sudden lack of counterforce sent Jin surging forward out of balance. Before he could recapture his footing, the teacher struck at his exposed back. The crack of ribs seemed to echo over pent up breaths. _

_ Fire laced through him even as he struggled to counter the second strike that came with such speed, landing squarely between his shoulder blades. Air exploded from his lungs as he slammed to the mat coughing, the taste of blood bitter on his lips. _

_ All around, Jin felt the thin veil of smugness in his peers, not only could he be defeated, he could be beaten down. It was masked just beneath the horror in their eyes. His own indignation burned as he stared back at them. He liked it better when they envied and feared him for being better. He tried to push himself up. He would not lie down. _

_ A strangled cry escaped him as Mariya brought his bokken down across his back sending him to the floor again._

_ Mariya stared out at his students who watched wide-eyed. With the tip of his weapon, he reached out and pushed Jin's practice sword beyond his reach. "I exploited numerous weaknesses in my opponent. Ones, I promise, he will break himself of and I will have to find other weaknesses the next time. But if this were real combat he would have been dead in only two moves. Every man can be defeated." He strode across the floor to where Toshio was standing and handed off the bokken. "I suggest you all take this to heart," he said gravely. "For now, dismissed!"_

_ After the room had cleared save Jin, who was still lying in the middle of the floor, Mariya turned to face him. Jin could feel the sensei's eyes intently on him as he slowly shifted. Moving hurt, breathing hurt, he thought as he carefully managed to sit up. His hand pressed to his bruising side as he took careful breaths not to anger his broken ribs. _

_ Mariya spoke in a more personable tone. "How often have I warned you of favoring your left?" He sighed. "May this remind you of your weaknesses." He paced slightly, but when Jin did not respond, he asked, "Do you understand?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "Take these mistakes and learn from them. It will make you stronger." Mariya turned to walk away, but paused. Over his shoulder he added, "I foresee that one day soon even I will not be able to defeat you."_

Fire strained every desperate breath. Jin knew he needed to breathe; he needed to free his lungs of the river water that had filled them. He coughed and choked on his agony from deep slash wounds to his back and side.

Cold numbed fingers gripped the gnarled roots of the large tree trunk that had saved him from being swept further along in the currents of the Subayai.

The muscles in his arm threatened to fail at any moment as he pulled himself against the log and his feet struggled in the shallow embankment where the tree trunk had briefly come to rest. He could feel the currents pulling at it, trying to dislodge it and send it flowing back into the maddened river.

The job would be easier if he could just use both hands, but the fingers of his right were frozen around the wrapped hilt of his katana in a death grip. Even if he wanted too, he could not let go.

Carefully, struggling against his intense lethargy, Jin managed to throw his arm over the thick trunk. He snarled in pain, but stayed his position. He focused on his legs, forcing them to move, to dig his feet into the rocky, river floor finding balance.

Loosing his grip on the tree roots, he reached out into the dark night, finding grass and water-soaked earth. Fingers dug into the grass for leverage as he pulled himself forward.

As he inched his way forward, nearly at the edge of the river and onto the bank, the tree trunk slipped, wrenching him backward with such force, he thought his arm would be ripped from his shoulder. Crying out, he lunged forward into the soft ground. Pain laced through him from his wounds as he gripped at his slashed side and struggled up onto the spongy, grassy plain.

Ahead he spied a small clearing through a tangle of trees.

* * *

**roterritter** - Thank you so much! **Elementary Magpie** - I love to keep my readers guessing. ;) **poornmiserable** - Let's see: Shiori's husband is a doctor. Hisuiiro is the leader of the bad guys and he'll be giving everyone a lot of trouble. Umeko will join the story soon. And as far as Shiori's connection to Karasu goes, you'll just have to wait and see. **Miyu 14** - Thank you very much!

Thank you everyone for replying. It always leaves me feeling warm and fuzzy when readers take the time to let me know what they think or enjoyed about my writing. It is very appreciated and I would love to hear more.

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - The wise old fox and the dead. Shiori's wishes are answered._


	8. Crossing the Sanzu Part III

**Chapter Seven: Crossing the Sanzu River (Part III)**

The patter of rain filled the quiet as Shiori sat near the cook fire, sipping a cup of warm tea. It did little to calm her nerves as her hands still lightly trembled, sloshing the liquid about the edges of the cup.

She looked to the dark edges of the room and felt particularly lonely. She missed her husband and wished he were not attending a conference. It was something he did twice a year, to gather with fellow colleagues to discuss healing techniques and innovations reaching their valley. She knew he enjoyed these visits to the larger city further up the river, but she always missed him so much during his absence.

His comforting touch would dispel the nightmare.

Maybe it was that stress, coupled by those evil men who had made life difficult for their village that brought it to surface. She sipped her tea, trying to focus on the warmth and the smooth flavor.

Piercing her memory like the finest blade, she still saw the blood at her feet as she had so many years ago.

Her breath hitched and she pressed a hand to her face, covering her eyes. It would not blind her to the memory as she could still see her husband and his gore streaked sword.

After cutting down a man he called friend and surviving the plunge into the raging river, her husband had sworn never to raise his sword again.

All these years, he had kept that promise, even when she knew it pained him not to.

Setting her cup down, she paused to light a small paper lantern she had prepared and then slowly rose up, walking through the dark home to a chamber at the back. Through the shutters, she spied the bluing of the sky and knew morning would soon arrive.

Shiori was grateful for the new day and prayed the sun would burst through the clouds and burn away the dark memories.

Sinking to the floor, she set the lantern down and brushed her fingers along the smooth, wooden panels where she found a slight indent and slid her fingers into the opening, drawing up the board. Easily pulling two more up, she exposed a sizable section. Drawing her lamp close she looked down into the hole and smiled at the sight of the long, lacquered box sitting under a layer of dust.

Carefully removing the box from its resting place, she brushed her fingers over the red ka-mon painted on the center of the dark lacquered wood. It had been years since she had seen the Sono crest. Her husband would be upset if he knew she had disturbed the box from its hiding place, but she just had to see it. Gentle fingers slid the lid off, exposing crimson silk. It was just as she remembered it as she brushed her fingertips over the fine, aged cloth.

When she was a child, she could look out and see a sea of red in all the men that served her father. She used to swell with pride seeing that color, but now, the red only reminded her of blood. She saw it in the injured her husband treated. She was it spilled at her feet as Karasu fell before her.

Lightly gripping the material, she drew it back revealing a matched daisho lying on a bed of red silk. She drew her fingers over the red wrapped tsuka of the katana. The dragon pattern carved into the tsuba drew a small smile. Once the sight of these swords was all it took to identify their owner as Matsuura Kiyohito.

These days though, that name had passed into memory and she called him Seijun, her husband and village doctor.

* * *

Dressed warmly as the rains left the air chill in the early hours, Shiori, armed with a lighted lamp and he umbrella struck out from her home and walked along the quiet streets of the village. 

The wooden planks shifted underfoot, the softened ground barely holding them in place so she treaded carefully. The last thing she wanted was her husband to come home to find her crippled from a fall. Though he would probably tell her that it served her right for being so stubborn.

Light rains fell, making soft drum beats on her yellow umbrella as she walked carefully toward the path at the eastern edge of the village that would lead to Akita Nobumura's shrine. The distant horizon glowed with the paling of the dark night, but the heavy clouds seemed determined to keep the sun's warmth at bay.

The sound of wet footsteps along the narrow street made her turn, her startle vanishing as quickly as it appeared the moment she saw a young man racing toward her.

"Shiori!" he snapped as he came to an abrupt stop.

She stared at her husband's apprentice, Masashi. He looked drawn and tired, but it did little to dampen the worry in his eyes. "What are you doing out at this hour?" she asked.

"That is what I was about to ask you."

"I am going to pray," she said defiantly, knowing Masashi would not approve and worse scold her like a child. She was practically old enough to be his mother, not that she would ever admit it.

With an exhausted sigh, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, holding firmly to her. He stole a quick glance about, and then met her straight in the eye. "You must stop this nonsense. You only make _them_ angry by your defiance."

"Since when does a gang of ruffians decided when and where one should pray?" she demanded.

The sound of doors drew Masashi's attention toward the darkened houses that lined the road. He twisted and looked toward the inn on the corner. Shadowed figures moved. Terror lit his eyes as he turned back to Shiori. "Go home and pray to your family shrine."

Shiori watched the young man, who had once been so vibrant tremble. "I cannot do that," she said, knowing as long as the members of the Shinku Kiba remained, her village would wither with fear like Masashi had.

"They blame you for Kyoudai and Yamainu."

"What?" She knew these two names, they were brothers and there was a third, all members of the Shinku Kiba.

"A ronin tried to cross the bridge to the village yesterday. He killed Kyoudai and severely wounded Yamainu before being killed himself. They threw his body over the rail into the river. They think your prayers drew him to the village."

A smile drew across Shiori's painted lips.

"Do not be so proud of yourself," Masashi whispered. "They are very angry. Yamainu is badly wounded. I do not think he will live."

"Good."

The shadows at the in took on the shape of three figures that slowly approached.

Shaking his head, frustration knitted Masashi's brows, "You do not understand. Go home. I will explain it to you later."

"Why would she listen to you, doctor?" Hisuiiro said in a silky tone as he stepped into the light of Shiori's lantern. "She does not listen me, what hope would you have?"

Masashi's shoulders sank as he retreated from her. Terror danced in his eyes as he was stopped by two of the leader's subordinates, the shaven-headed Hagetaka and the massive, Guma.

"Kaitou is agitated with you, doctor," Hisuiiro said. "You should be tending to Yamainu, for if he dies—"

"It is nothing that I can change," Masashi said sadly, though his voice wavered. "His wounds, I doubt anyone could save him. He has only lived this long because he wills it."

For a moment, Shiori thought she saw pain in Hisuiiro's look, but decided it was just the shadows playing tricks on her eyes. She doubted he cared much one way or another. She doubted that he felt anything for any living being outside his needs.

Hisuiiro motioned to his two men, "Escort him back to Yamainu's room so that he may tend our brethren."

After a startled cry, Masashi fell silent as Guma roughly grabbed his arm and followed Hagetaka back toward the inn and left Shiori alone with the leader.

Reaching out, he brushed a finger along Shiori's chin. She recoiled in disgust. His gentle voice rang out over the falling rain, "Why do you insist on defying me?"

For hours, sitting by the cook fire, sipping her tea, she had contemplated why the memory of her former life came back to her. But standing before this man, she now understood the specters of her past.

She reached back to the girl she was and grasped the memory. She grasped the tanto, the fear of being forever separated from her beloved husband and the grief she felt when Karasu fell before her. She even gripped at the wispy memory of teachings her father had imparted to her so long ago.

With this newfound power, Shiori smiled at the leader of the Shinku Kiba, the most ferocious of the seven. She tilted her umbrella back so she could get a more complete look and so he could clearly see her face. "Why would a man like you fear an old woman praying to the spirit of Akita Nobumura so much?

He returned the smile. "You are a very vexing woman. Were you younger or I older, I would challenge any man for you. I enjoy a good adversary."

"Adversary," she laughed. "You make me out to be some sort of warrior. I am hardly that. According to my husband I am a nag with a one-track mind. You think too highly of me."

While her façade remained calm, her insides were screaming in terror, as he carefully looked her over. She wanted to throw down the lamp and umbrella and flee.

Hisuiiro's careful examination came to a halt as his lips pressed into a thin smile. "Yesterday, on the surface you were a frightened leaf, but today—"

"I am still the same woman as before, as I have always been. I would be lying if I said I was not afraid." She lightly twirled her umbrella as she spoke. "But I also remember that there are few things in this world that frighten me. You, Hisuiiro of the Shinku Kiba are not one of them."

The man narrowed his gaze. "Undoubtedly, I must work harder on my impressions."

Deciding she was finished with the conversation, she turned and started to walk away. Over her shoulder, she said, "I have much to tend to today and I want to start it with a prayer."

"I have not dismissed you."

She turned sharply and glared at him. "I have not asked your permission, nor do I need it. I will do as I please," she boldly added. "If you want to stop me, you must run me through with your sword." As she walked, her heart was thundering so hard that she thought she would fall faint and collapse but as the distance between them grew, she silently felt vindicated. She had stood up the man and his bark was far more menacing than his bite.

Now if she could just prove this to the rest of the village.

* * *

Any bravado Shiori had felt while walking along the path to the shrine was crushed when she reached the small clearing. She found the shrine in splintered ruins. 

Tears burned hot in her eyes as she allowed her umbrella to tumble to the wet ground as she covered her mouth, desperate to stifle a pained cry.

She understood now that Hisuiiro had not been set back by her bravery, he had let her go, knowing what she would find would be punishment enough.

Struggling the few steps it took to reach the edge of the shrine, the roof caved in where the walls had been hacked apart, she fell to her knees, the soft earth squishing and separating, mud soaking into her pale yellow kimono.

With her head tilted forward and her hands still clutching at the lamp, she cried. "I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me," she begged. "This is all my fault."

In the distance, an angry caw called over the rain. It was answered by more, high up in the trees.

The rain soaked into her neatly done hair and ran down her face, mixing with her tears as she looked up into the trees, silhouetted against the dawn. She imagined a thousand carrion birds watching with their dark eyes. The caws filled the air and several black birds burst from the tall oaks at the edge of the clearing and flew off into the dark morning.

Turning her attention to the damaged wood in front of her, she fought back the tears again. "I am a foolish old woman," she whispered. "The dead cannot save us when even the living will not rise up against their oppressors." She hated the Shinku Kiba and everything they represented. Vile ugly creatures, she thought.

The lantern light flickered in her tightened grip as she struggled with her pain. "Forgive me."

A sound snapped her head up. Her dark eyes darted about, staring into the many shadows that surrounded the small clearing.

"Who is there?" she demanded, but remained frozen in place.

Standing beyond the shrine was a shadowed figure, sword drawn, the morning light burning along the curved blade. Fear tightened around her as she imagined that one of the members of the Shinku Kiba had been in hiding, waiting for someone to come to the shrine to punish them.

"You have taken the shrine, is that not enough?" she demanded as the figure stepped closer. Overcome with fright, she scrambled to her feet. Stepping in a soft patch, the mud grabbed her sandal and pulled it from her foot. Stumbling, she twisted about to see if the figure was coming at her, but to her surprise, he did not move.

The yellow light of her lantern splashed off the exposed blade of his sword as he held it before him defensively.

Shiori just stood there, trying to decide to recover her sandal or to flee without it. Her attention flitted back to the still figure where she noted the slashed blue-gray gi with a bloody sleeve and his hand gripping his side.

Holding her lantern up, she tried to see this man's face, fearful she would see one of the members of the Shinku Kiba.

At the sight of blood, memories crashed like waves in her mind's eye. She saw Karasu fall before her and a sea of crimson at her feet.

She wanted to run away.

The tip of the blade dipped as the figure's arm sunk to his side, revealing the deep gash at his shoulder as his head drooped forward and he stumbled a step.

The lantern fell to the ground going dark as she raced around the shattered shrine. Mud filled around her bare toes as she ran unevenly, forgetting herself as she drew close to the swordsman.

The tip of his blade sank into the mud. He was only a heartbeat behind; falling to a knee, wavering as his head bobbed slightly, his only support was the death grip on the indigo wrapped hilt.

Concern overrode her fear and she fell before him and reached out, brushing her fingers along a pale cheek. "You need treatment. With your wounds and the cold, you will certainly die." His head dropped lower and he became heavy in her arms. "Listen to me. I have to go for help. You need help. Do you understand me? You have to hang on."

A soft, slurred voice responded, "Yeah."

She remained kneeling there, supporting him. "You are the ronin who killed them. You killed Kyoudai and Yamainu." She stared at the long black hair that fell across his face. "What kind of a man alone can wound and kill two members of the Shinku Kiba and survive a fall into an angry river?" She shook her head. "You cannot be mortal."

Without fear she brushed her hand along his chill cheek. It was like touching death as she drew his dark hair from his closed eyes.

The entire world seemed to stop. Shiori did not feel the rain or the cold, she could not hear the angry Subayai, she knew not loneliness or rage, and she knew only an unnamed fear that rose up from the very depth of her being.

The long blade sank deeper into the mud, losing the bit of support he had, the swordsman toppled over into the water soaked ground with a splash.

For a time, Shiori just sat there, her fingers entwined in her muddy lap as the morning light fell across the clearing.

"Do you come to help us or to destroy us? Have you come for revenge?" she asked as she leaned forward and pressed her hand to the cold skin of his forehead, then gently caressed his cheek. A sad smile painted her features. "I have missed you, Karasu."

* * *

**roterritter** - Thanks! **meow** - I don't think you will have to worry about Mugen making too much fun. He's going to have his own problems soon enough...

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - Fuu makes friends and Mugen raises a ruckus._  



	9. Intersections

**Chapter Eight: Intersections**

Colorful paper lanterns swayed from the eaves of a large corner shop as the morning breeze shifted through the crowded fresh market. A rainbow of fruits and vegetables lined both sides and the smell of dozens of cook stoves wafted through the river of people as they bargained and chattered.

Though the growl of Fuu's stomach nearly drowned out the din as she caught a whiff off something good. She groaned as it only served to remind her that she had not eaten in more than a day and that she was cold and soaked to the bone from the ever present rains. She sniffled in the chilly air. "It isn't fair," she complained for the tenth time in the last hour as she trudged behind Mugen.

"River water—"

"Shut up!" she screamed as she suddenly straightened but the hunger ache doubled her over again and she pressed her hands to her abdomen. "No more sleeping outside in the rain. You need to get a job so we can stay at an inn."

"Why me?"

"This is your fault!"

Mugen spun about, jamming a finger in her face. "I'm not the one who—"

"Yes, you did."

"But I didn't—"

"That too."

"You can't blame me for—"

Fire burned in Fuu's eyes. "It's your fault." Her fists were clenched at her sides violently trembling and she knew if he didn't get out of her face right at that moment, she was going to punch him. "You owe me," she said through clenched teeth. When he didn't back off, she forced out a loud sigh, to cold, hungry and tired to do anything and noted the chunk of dried paste still slinging to her bangs. "I need a bath."

"Yeah, you're really starting to stink," her companion said, turning his back to her.

"Like you should talk," she bellowed as she stopped by a long row of fresh market stalls. "Are you allergic to water? To soap?"

Venders were watching and customers stopped to stare at their quarreling, but she didn't care.

"Hey! Get off my case, bitch."

A chicken, hanging from a hook at one of the stands was sent flying through the air and crashed with a sickening crunch across the top of Mugen's shaggy head sending him stumbling. He growled something best left incoherent as Fuu happily handed the limp bird back to the startled keeper behind the counter. "I hope you don't mind that I tenderized it," she said with a sweet smile.

"Bitch," Mugen snarled as he straightened. Little feathers stuck out of his wild hair, some blowing off into the crisp air as he stalked down the street.

"Idiot."

"Flat chested—"

Stomping a few steps behind him, she screamed, "Pervert!"

Rounding the corner, they found the street blocked by a gathering a bystanders. Mugen spun about, offering a mean grin, "At least I have fun."

Fuu ignored him, shifting to look at the idle crowd. "What's going on?"

Following her gaze, Mugen just scratched his head.

At the sound of raised voices, she pushed through the forest of bodies. "Excuse me. Excuse me." Near the front, she rose up on tiptoes to see if she could see anything. Heads still blocked her way, so she elbowed her way to the front. Startle made her freeze as she saw three large men standing in the open center of the crowd. They in turn circled an older man and a young woman.

"Please," the gentleman, dressed in a matching tan kimono and haori raised his hands submissively. He shifted slightly, purposely placing himself between the three men and his much younger companion. "We have nothing of—"

"Shut up!" the boldest of the trio, with long red spiked hair roared as he leapt forward, swinging his long blade, the tip passed just a finger's width from the end of the older man's nose.

He did not move.

The spiky haired thug snarled furiously, then waved the sword in the man's face again. "You entered our street without our permission," he sneered, drawing his lip back and revealing jagged rows of teeth. "You owe us for the privilege of walking on it. Give us all your money."

"Of course," the man calmly replied, digging into the layers of his kimono. "But I am merely a country doctor visiting your fine city, I am not worth very much."

"Then we'll take the girl too," another said, boldly stepping forward and grabbing the young woman by her pale blue kimono. She cried out in terror as she was pulled away from her protector.

Fuu's heart surged at the sight. She quickly pulled her attention away and scanned the crowd around her searching for Mugen. "Help them," she said softly, but no one moved.

The doctor twisted about, striking at the man's arm with his bare hand. A crunch filled the air and the thug screamed as he fell back. Still in motion, the doctor, pulled his companion back behind him again as he stared out at the crowd.

There was desperation in his face, Fuu thought as she once again searched the horrified faces of the people surrounding the scene. "Mugen!" she called out softly, hoping he would respond, but fearing he had gone off in search of a brothel instead.

That would be just like him, she darkly thought.

The doctor seemed to brighten as he called out, "Hey! You there, the one with the sword!"

Fuu looked around curiously then frowned when she found the object of the man's attention. Mugen was just standing there, scratching…rather inappropriately.

"You!" The doctor called again, finally earning Mugen's attention. "I'll pay you to take care of these men for us."

Mugen lazily scratched at his neck. "How much?"

"Shut up!" the head thug barked as he struck the doctor, knocking him to the ground. Red spikes shifted as the large figure turned to look toward Mugen. "Stay out of this," he warned.

"Do something!" Fuu whispered.

"How do I know it's worth risking my life for?" Mugen asked as he shifted slightly and absently picked his nose.

"You'd fight just because!" the girl shot back. "He's paying!" When Mugen still didn't respond, Fuu aimed her finger at the trio of thugs who had stopped and were just staring at them. "Any other time, you'd pick a fight because that's what you do. That guy's offering money. We need money."

He's doing this to make me crazy, Fuu inwardly thought.

Straightening, she folded her arms across her chest. "Well, I guess you have gone soft since the last time I saw you. I knew you couldn't take them." She waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh yeah?" Mugen said.

She huffed and looked away, but her façade quickly shattered when the young woman with the doctor cried out. The third man, with bleached blond locks had her by the wrists and was pulling her toward him.

Just as the doctor tried to help her he was kicked in the gut, sending him tumbling to the muddy ground. "Please!" he hoarsely called out.

"I got a big appetite," Mugen said as he stepped forward. "You sure you got enough money?"

"Yes!"

An evil grin threaded across hiss face. "You got yourself a deal."

"Stay out of this," the second thug barked.

The words never reached Mugen as he was already in motion. His drawn blade sang as it sliced through the air and was quickly followed by red as he slashed the first man to get in his way and wildly bounded after the blond headed man, who was roughing up the young woman.

The woman screamed as she fell to the ground as her attacker lunged toward Mugen. He was not so easily taken down, bounding out of the reach of Mugen's blade.

Fuu knitted her brows as she watched.

Landing on his palm, Mugen flipped over, blocking the follow up blow with his geta. His other foot swung out, connecting with the red-haired man's face on the opposite side. A sickening crunch and blood exploded from the man's nose as he tumbled backward, falling before the doctor.

"Careful, Umeko," the gentleman said as he struggled to his feet and grabbed his companion, pulling her back from the intensity of the fighting. "You must not see this." His words were calm even as the wild man wrecked havoc around them.

A loosened lock of Umeko's hair fell across her face as she struggled to her feet, her dark eyes filled with terror the moment Fuu grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the crowd.

Fuu waved her hand toward the doctor. "This way!" All she knew was they had to get away and running was always the best option because trouble was always followed by bigger trouble.

A wild slash from Mugen nearly cut the doctor in half, had he not bounded back a step. He looked regretfully toward the scene, and then turned toward Fuu and Umeko. "You are with him?" he asked.

"Yes," Fuu said. She noted Umeko's thin wrist in her grip. The young woman was shaking.

The doctor met Umeko's terrified look. "You two go back to the inn and wait."

"Seijun, no!" Umeko said as she tried to pull free of Fuu.

"Go!"

Fuu thought she would fall over with the power of that single word. She tightened her grip on Umeko's wrist. "Come."

Umeko allowed herself to be pulled. "But—"

"Mugen can take care of himself," Fuu said. She saw the crowd starting to shift. More trouble.

A voice ripped through the din of the fight, "By the authority of the Yohada domain, cease—"

"We must go!" Fuu said, tugging on Umeko's wrist and pulling her reluctantly into the crowd.

* * *

** roterritter** - Thanks and glad you you like the Shinku Kiba, there will be lots more of them in the near future. **Elementary Magpie** - I am glad you liked the flashback. That was the scariest thing to write. ;) **ZeroBen** - Thanks! **poornmiserable** - Oh, you aren't the only one who notices the twisted take on the trio. In fact, I surprised myself with it. **dupidnavagog** - Thank you so much! I thought it would be really hard writing Mugen action scenes, but they are so much fun I just can't get enough of them :p **Barbara Akers** - Thank you so much! **ODST girl058** - Whoops, sorry about that wait! **CinnamonGrrl** - Thanks! **Miyu14** - I advise the use of bungee cords because you're going to do a lot of cliffhanging... 

Sorry about the dry spell, I was unavailable for a little while, but I managed to get several chapters near ready for posting so expect a new post every two days for a while again. :) Thank you all for the kind replies, I really do appreciate them.

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - Shiori stirs things up. _


	10. Bindings

**Chapter Nine: Bindings**

The gentle rains tapped against the flatbed of the cart sitting empty in front of the doctor's home. Each splash darkened the wood, pooling and running down the slant that the cart sat at. Large drops gathered at the corners of the cart and dropped, splashing into the saturated earth below.

The air was chill as Shiori paced the veranda along the front of the house. She was keeping an eye on the inn down the street, hoping the commotion around her home had not drawn any unwanted attention.

Gunpei, a local farmer who lived at the eastern edge of the village had used his cart to move the fallen swordsman. He had left the swordsman to the back of the shops and business fronts that lined the street. Masashi had been horrified, left to take care of the man as the farmer drove his empty cart to the front, under the guise of a farming accident.

All she could do was wait as the two men aided the wounded samurai and prayed that the members of the Shinku Kiba were too wrapped up in their mourning.

Moreover, she prayed that they did not notice her change of clothing from their morning encounter. She had shed her wet and muddy kimono and was now dressed in a dry yellow one with a plum pattern. The only bit of red she owned was a lovely crimson shawl. She rarely wore it, even for warmth, but this day, she wanted it wrapped around her shoulders. She did not know why, but if felt like the right thing to do.

From a quiet distance, she watched the village slowly come to life. Children splashed in the mud to their mothers' horror and shop fronts slowly opened up. At the local teahouse, the smell of warm food danced in the damp air and reminded Shiori she had only had a bit of tea hours ago.

From the dry safety of the veranda, she smiled and waved to Okimi and Rana as they walked along the wooden path. She noted that Rana paused and looked back toward her and she wondered what rumors that gossipy woman would spread.

Her luck, Rana would have the whole village believing she and Gunpei were having an affair before the day was over. Any other time, she would be furious, but today, she would settle for such a story. Seijun would never believe it and it would mask the truth.

She looked back at her home and felt the worry creep into her. She had not been thinking; her terror and hope had mixed into a lethal energy. Who was this man whose face she knew so well? Had he come back from her past for revenge or was he the savior she had desperately hoped for?

When she had brushed her fingers against her his icy cheek, she had felt the chill of death. She had felt her heart clench in a terror she had not know in decades when she saw his face, calm features framed by raven hair.

"Why?" she whispered as she closed her eyes. "Why have you come back?"

"I didn't know I ever left."

With a start, Shiori opened her eyes and gasped as she was met with stern figure of Hagetaka standing by the cart. She had not heard his approach.

This one, one of Hisuiiro's loyal thugs frightened her more than the others. Each was unique and Hisuiiro their leader was the most terrifying for his calculations. Every time he looked at her, she could feel him dissecting her. But Hagetaka was different. She saw no calculating mind, no brute strength, only someone who enjoyed the kill and thrived on other's pain and knew that Hisuiiro only had limited control over him. She stared at his cold face, his shaven head, the strings of mala that looped around his neck and tied into the hand guards and spiraled around wrists and forearms. She wondered how many priests he had killed, when he, himself looked like a monk gone mad and something told her that was close to the truth. He did not carry a sword; instead a naginata was his weapon of choice.

With the long staff of the polearm, he tapped the cart. "Why would a farmer's cart be in front of a doctor's house?"

Shiori narrowed her gaze. "Why do you think?" she demanded. "The front is my husband's office and—"

"Your husband is off at a conference." Hagetaka's dark robes glowed with fresh rainwater soaking into them as he took a few steps closer to the front of the house.

"Masashi is treating a farmer who had an bit of an accident early this morning. He needed access to my husband's medical journals."

The man looked her over suspiciously.

Shiori stepped forward slightly and well into the reach of his long weapon. "Have you ever lived in a small village with farming?" She challenged. "You stay up late, sleep until you are hungry and do as you please but many in this village to live must get up before sun up to tend their fields and animals or to prepare their shops for business. Just because you and your comrades move in does not mean our ways change."

Hagetaka looked as if her were going to say something but fell silent when the door behind Shiori opened and a graying farmer stepped out of and slowly approached the water glossed edge of the veranda. His earth-colored work clothing was stained dark with blood, but Shiori knew it was not his. She could see fresh wrappings around his right arm and felt the terrible weight lift from her shoulders at the ruse.

Fear lit Gunpei's eyes as he held his arm protectively.

"Would you like the wound unwrapped again so you can inspect it?" Shiori asked.

Aiming the curved blade of his weapon toward her, Hagetaka growled, "I don't know what about you interests Hisuiiro so much but I find you a pest and if I had my way more than your pathetic little shrine would be hacked up." He withdrew the weapon, but the fierceness of his presence never diminished as he growled, "Kyoudai and Yamainu are dead and I blame you."

It took all of Shiori's strength to keep still even as Hagetaka sharply turned about and stormed off. She gripped her shawl as she stared at the wooden planks laid between her and Gunpei. "I have put you at risk," she said softly.

The farmer laughed. "I could have turned you away when you landed at my door. You did nothing I did not want to do." He shrugged wearily as he looked toward his cart. "I have nothing to lose." He stretched his fingers and dropped his arm to the side. "My wife is dead and I have no children. The only one I have is myself. I would rather die than continue to live my life in terror of these men." He smiled. "Anything I can do, just call on me." Stepping into the rain, he picked up the cart and pulled it slowly through the muddy street and leaving deep ruts in the carts wake.

For a few moments, Shiori just stood there, watching the liquid seep into the ruts. Retreating to the door, she paused and turned back toward the inn where Hagetaka had returned too. On the balcony, she could see the tall form of Hisuiiro standing there, watching. She narrowed her gaze and sighted another member of the Shinku Kiba, Kaitou, just inside the doorway.

Turning her back on them, she went into the house and discarded her sandals in the foyer before moving through the receiving area and to the private area of the house. Behind her she carefully slid the screens into place as she passed through the small labyrinth of rooms to a guest chamber at the back.

Masashi met her at the door as he roughly pulled off the bloody apron he wore. He paused to study the red shawl over her shoulders. "You wear that like a declaration of war. Your husband would not approve," he whispered.

"Do not speak to me as if I am a child," she said curtly as she brushed past him into the small room. Off to the side stood a large lamp on a stand, warm light filled the room. While it did little to warm the room, it was far better than the chill outside. Her gaze flowed across the mats to the dark material of the futon that her guest was tucked into. The calm, resting expression on his face did not quell the rising terror in her, even as she tried to smile. "How is he?"

At first there was no answer, then Masashi spoke, softly, fear edging his voice. "I do not know. I think he could survive the wounds themselves, but the cold and the river," he sighed. "I don't know." Helplessness seemed to weigh down his broad shoulders. "I fix small wounds, broken bones, treatments for the ill. I don't know anything about sword wounds. He's covered in scars that look worse than those wounds. If he survived those—"

"What kind of scars?" she asked looking back at Masashi's frustrated face. She did not linger on it before slowly approaching the futon.

Masashi reached for her. "You should not be in here—"

The words died even as Shiori closed the space between her and the samurai.

"The scars," she said calmly.

"There are two long cuts to his right side, and smaller cuts along his arms and one to his right leg. He also looks like he was run through from back to gut."

Shiori's breath hitched with the last bit of information.

In her mind's eye, she saw her husband, Seijun—

_Kiyohito _

She saw the pain in Karasu's face as her husband's blade pierced his back, exiting through his abdomen. She saw blood at her feet as Karasu sank to his knees before her.

Weakness seized her legs and she sank to the floor. It was all she could do to keep from being overcome. Her fingers pressed to the mats below as she struggled to control herself.

"Shiori!" Masashi said as he raced to her side.

Tears burned in her eyes as she squeezed her hands together in her lap. She could feel the young man's hands on her shoulders, his worried voice urging her to her feet but she refused to move. "No," she whispered.

* * *

Even to Mugen's callused footpads, the dirty wooden floor was rough as he was pushed through the narrow hall between heavy cells. Voices jeered and the stench of cheap sake and vomit filled the air.

Behind him, his guards bellowed at the other prisoners, demanding their silence but he paid them little attention as he strained against the tightly knotted rope that looped around his torso and pinned his arms firmly to his back. Growling, he struggled with his bindings but it seemed the more he fought the deeper the rope cut through his thin shirt into his arms. He had been stripped of his geta, his weapons, and his red jacket.

The blunt end of a long jutte jabbed him between the shoulder blades as a large, yellow-coated samurai pushed him forward. "Quit wasting my time, get moving."

"I could walk easier if you'd untie me." Mugen's face pinched in pain as he was poked again with the weapon, in the same sore spot. "Hey! Stop that!" he barked, spinning about. Hopping, he kicked the big man in the gut but was quickly beaten down by two more guards.

"Are we going to have to tie your ankles together too?" One of the men asked as he smashed Mugen's face first into the worn floor, then a knee landed in his back.

Air exploded from his lungs as he growled, "Hey! Get off me you bastards!"

A cell door slid open and Mugen found himself suddenly airborne.

It lasted but a moment.

He cried out in shock as he slammed to the back of the dark cell. As he struggled to right himself, or at least roll onto his side, the door was slammed closed and the clack of a lock sealed him in. "Hey!" he called. "Hey! What about the ropes?"

"What about them?" came a laughing voice as the men walked away, barking at the other prisoners as they went.

"What the…shit!" Mugen yelled as his found his footing and threw himself at the cell wall, but was helpless with his arms bound behind him. "Untie me, you bastards!"

When no answer came, he sank against the crossbars and sighed as his stomach growled irritably. "Damn." Allowing himself to fall back, hitting the floor with a thud, he just laid there, uncomfortably on his side. Chicken feathers danced about in the storm of disturbed air around his head. He puffed up his cheeks and then exhaled, blowing the fluffy feathers out of his face.

Thoughts of Fuu crossed his mind and he wondered what she was up to but decided that she could take care of herself. Another unhappy noise as his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in more than a day. "Damn, I'm hungry."

* * *

**roterritter** - It really wouldn't be Mugen if he didn't act like him, glad you enjoy the characterization. **gabby** - Thanks! **Water/Air **- Thank you very much! **poornmiserable** - Pairings? Um, I'm trying to stick to what was in the series. Take from that what you will. **dupidnavagog** - Yeah, I never really meant for the darkness that's so strong in the story, but hopefully things will lighten up as everyone gets closer to colliding. ;) **meow** - Jin isn't Karasu, Shiori's memories are a number of years older than Jin is. Hope that helps. **ODST girl 058** - Thanks!

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - Jin dreams and Fuu gets large._  



	11. Voices from the Past

**Chapter 10: Voices From the Past**

Masashi had called Shiori stubborn and told her that he feared this madness that had gripped her. In the end though, he had left her sitting next to the unconscious samurai she had rescued.

She had no idea how much time had passed other than she had managed to cry until her tears had dried up. Now, through fuzzy vision, she stared at her sleeping guest. Her whole world was turned upside down and she had to keep reminding herself that this man was real and not a flitter of her imagination.

"Karasu," she whispered as she reached out with a delicate hand and brushed across his knitted brow and brushing back a few loose strands of hair. The warmth had returned to his skin, and she even felt a thin sheen of perspiration. She drew her hand along the side of his face, caressing his cheek.

There was comfort in such a simple act.

A silent burden that she had long bore seemed lifted. "I had grown complacent," she whispered. "I was happy in this life, the Shinku Kiba notwithstanding." Withdrawing her hand, she shifted her position and laid her hands in her lap as she continued to speak softly, "I thought the past was put to rest. I thought with our deaths, we would be free. I had become complacent." She could not remain still and gentle hands adjusted the futon cover slightly. "Yet, I am happy to see you, Karasu."

* * *

Through a veil of pain and exhaustion, Jin floated at the edge of consciousness. He had been vaguely aware of people and of being moved. He felt his wounds tended and wrapped and followed by warmth and clean dry bedding. And now, he listened to the soft voice. 

Muffled words fading in and out as if echoing against the mountains. A word, here and there, came to him clearly, but the rest made little sense.

Once more, he found a kind voice to be an anchor in a raging sea.

_"You two make me cry,"_ came the memory of Fuu's gentle voice rising along the waves. _"What am I supposed to do if you—either of you—die?"_

I will not die.

Grasping for the familiar in his pain-dulled mind, pink filled his thoughts as faded images of Fuu and that fuzzy rodent drifted past, he even saw Momo. Just as quickly as the images had bloomed into existence, they faded, replaced by that new voice which pierced the haze. One word slipped past the fire of angry wounds.

_Karasu._

Why did that woman keep calling him that, he wondered even as the last bits of his focus began to slip away as he drifted from consciousness. If he had the strength, he would have told her that she was mistaken—

_"Hey, boy," a graveled voice whispered. _

_ And Jin was again five-years-old._

_ With heavy eyelids, his sleepy eyes opened meet the warm glow of a lantern and the weathered face of the monk, Youhei, kneeling nearby. _

_ "Wake up," the old man urged with a nudge to his shoulder. _

_Jin yawned and rolled over. It was still dark out, he thought as he drew a small arm across his face, blocking the lamplight._

_"This is no time to sleep, boy." _

_The old man never called him by name, always just "boy"._

_ Hands that had always looked so frail pulled the boy from the warmth of his covers with a surprising strength. He was wide awake as the old man sat him down facing him. _

_ Knobby, arthritic fingers took up the boy's thin wrist and tied a string of turquoise beads around it. "These will protect you," was all Youhei said as he let Jin's hand fall to the tangle of covers in his lap. The old man quickly turned his attention to the ragged remains of a faded blue haori. The sleeves had been sawed off with a blade and the length forcefully shortened. He pressed it to the boy's chest, sizing it then returned to the side and sawed off more of the length. _

_ It was still dark outside, Jin noted as he looked toward the covered window. Yet, it was not quiet. Voices yelled, screams rocked the night and other sounds filled the air like a roar of chattering birds. He strained a little, leaning toward the window to better hear the sounds, but was pulled away by a tight grip. _

_ "Do not listen to them," Youhei said as he turned back to work. "They will not come here." After a moment, he looked up and softly added, "Not yet."_

_ Here was a Buddhist temple that Jin had been quietly living at for weeks, since his mother took ill. His father, who had rarely been around since the spring, appeared one day and delivered him to the care of the temple with only the most basic, but undeniable instruction: Obey Youhei completely._

_ He had tried his best to behave, but it was difficult and he missed his home and the garden with the butterflies. He missed his mother and his father and wondered when he would get to go home again. Even with a temple filled with priests, the faithful and an extensive support staff, he was all alone. Youhei had given him a few simple lessons with a shinai and often left him to practice, or tried to instruct him in meditation, saying children were never too young to learn the value of quiet. But to the old man's frustration, the meditation lessons never lasted long._

_ Youhei held up the ragged haori again. "It will do. Stand up, boy."_

_ Obeying, Jin quickly found his small frame engulfed in the still oversized jacket, but it did not matter. The monk wrapped him in it and used a long belt, wrapping it multiple times around his waist to hold it in place. Loose threads dangled from the sheared edges of the sleeves. Raising an arm, Jin looked at shredded ends._

_ "Do not fiddle with them," the monk ordered as he quickly checked the boy over, pausing to turn up the sleeve revealing the string of beads around the small wrist. "If anyone asks, you are my young disciple."_

_ "Disciple," Jin repeated as he nodded._

_ "Better yet, don't talk."_

_ From his robes the monk produced a folded piece of paper. "This is very important," he said, holding it up so Jin could clearly see it in the dim lamp light. "It is your future, a letter of introduction from your father to your new teacher." Tucking the letter away, Youhei added, "We have a long journey to the east ahead of us."_

_ The words were terrifying and he did not understand. "I want to stay," he said simply. _

_ "You cannot." The old man rose, picking up his lantern and revealed that he was dressed for travel. Slinging a pack over his shoulder, he then took the boy's hand. "We must hurry."_

_ Just as they headed for the door, the boy loosed his hand from Youhei's grip and ran back to the head of his futon, grabbing shinai that rested on the floor._

_ "No!" the monk said sharply, pulling it from the small grip and tossing the practice weapon across the room as if it were on fire. "You cannot take it." And there was fear in the old man's eyes as he grabbed Jin's hand again._

_ Into the chill evening air, Youhei pulled the boy along the twisting pilgrimage path that led from the temple. Under the unfettered full moon, the path was ominous and littered with corpses. Carnage was everywhere, some civilian but mostly samurai in their coats of green, red or yellow, but mostly red. Some were dressed in heavy armor, their faces hidden behind masked helmets that even motionless looked frightening. _

_ It was not the still armored figures that most held Jin's attention. It was the faces of the other samurai, their swords still in hand, and their faces locked in a variety of expressions from terror to acceptance._

_ "This is the price of revenge," Youhei said softly, pulling Jin along the path and around the dead. _

_ The boy struggled to keep caught up, too busy looking at the dead, but eventually, he managed to draw his attention away. A great orange glow rose over the silhouetted trees. He slowed, but Youhei did not, nearly dragging him over the rough ground._

_ "Remember this," the old man said._

_

* * *

_

**roterritter** - Keep an eye out for Hagetaka... **ODST girl058** - Well if he's not hungry, he's horney. :p Either way, it's going to get him in trouble. **poornmiserable** - Can't really say, but they will, eventually.** dupidnavagog** - Thank you so much! **Gamewizard3** - Thanks and cliffhangers are an evil author's best friend. **country-inugirl03** - Thanks! **SilverPurity** - wow, thank you so much and am glad you are enjoying it.

**A/N**- Thank you everyone for all your kind replied. I so appreciate them. I really had a lot of trouble with this chapter and decided that if I ever wanted to get it posted, I'd only post part of it right now. The Fuu part is next chapter...if it cooperates.

_

* * *

**Next Chapter **- Fuu gets large. No really, the Fuu chapter is coming up. ;) _


	12. Chance Meetings

**Chapter Eleven: Chance Meetings**

"Mmm. Mmm! Yum!" Fuu squealed between slurps of broth and mouthfuls of noodles, dragging it out of the bowl with her teeth. She inhaled the steam from the warm liquid and it was just intoxicating. All the hot food made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside after the cold, miserable night and morning she had spent in the rain.

Peeking over the rim of her bowl as she slurped noodles, Fuu spied her hostess sitting studiously with her back to the wall, staring, almost blankly into the large private room. They were safe in the inn, but the haunted look still clung to Umeko's youthful features. To Fuu's mind, she appeared only several years older, but had a world-weary look to her.

Sucking in the last of the noodles, Fuu reluctantly pulled the bowl from her face. She wiped away some broth still dripping from her chin and blushed with embarrassment. "Sorry. I was starving."

When Umeko returned the smile, the distant look faded in her dark eyes as she met Fuu's. "You poor dear," she said kindly.

Sheepishly, Fuu slurped down the last of the broth and as she set the bowl down again, she noted that the woman had not touch her bowl. "Well, not starved exactly. But I haven't eaten since early yesterday. It's Mugen's fault."

"Mugen," Umeko repeated as she picked at her bowl of rice. She seemed to brighten slightly. "Is that his name, you're friend, who helped us?"

"Pervert. Idiot. You name it," Fuu happily rattled off. Seeing the look of confusion on Umeko's face, Fuu stopped eating. "Mugen. We just…he…he's just Mugen."

"I see." Umeko said as she put the bowl down on the small tray before her and folded her fingers together in her lap. Without looking up, she asked, "Are you two traveling?"

A small frown slipped across Fuu's face. "I guess you can say that. I'm not really sure." She looked up and met Umeko's curious look. Rubbing her neck, Fuu tried to explain, at least as best as she understood it, "It's really an interesting story. Mugen and Jin were my bodyguards and helped me find my father before he died."

"Is this Jin here too?" Umeko interrupted.

Fuu frowned. "No. I haven't seen…I don't know where he is. Not since we went our separate ways some months ago. I hadn't even seen Mugen until yesterday when he sort of just burst in to the shop I was working at." She shrugged. "I guess it's our destiny and eventually, I'll meet up with Jin again. I think." She didn't know. While she had longed for their journey, a small part of her had slowly tried to accept that she would never see either man again. Maybe she and Mugen meeting up again was just a fluke. No telling how long it would last.

"I see."

Reaching up, Fuu pulled at her hair with the bits of flour paste still stuck to it. "I just wanted food and an inn with a bath. Now Mugen's in jail and—"

"I would not worry," Umeko said evenly. She shuffled off the daze that had held to her as she added, "Seijun is a man of many connections. He will see that Mugen is set free."

The absolute knowing in the woman's voice caught Fuu's attention. For a time, she just stared at the impossibly neat figure before and felt the creep of self-consciousness over her ragged looks. She tugged at her pink kimono and tried to brush her hair back but there was little she could do. Even her bow was wilted. Yet, in the woman's calm features, she read no judgment.

Between bites of rice, Umeko said, "Mugen is a good swordsman. At least, from what I saw."

"He's very strong."

Umeko glanced away as if she were searching for something in the far edges of the room. "I cannot tell you how grateful we are for the assistance."

"It was nothing," Fuu said, waving the comment off, "he likes to fight." Between bites, she paused. "I thought the doctor was your father."

"Oh, no." The woman laughed, gently covering her mouth with her hand.

Fuu felt her cheeks blush bright red. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No," Umeko warmly laughed. Her smile was infectious and it quickly spread to Fuu. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. He and Lady Shiori have been very kind to me these many months. They took me into their home when my husband was killed."

Understanding lit Fuu as she once again noted the plainness of Umeko's dress. "Oh." She lost her appetite. "I'm so sorry."

"Do not be. I am weary of people treating me like a flower. I am not so fragile." She sighed as she placed her hands in her lap again. "I was not fragile as the wife of a samurai, I do not know why that should change as a widow."

"Oh."

She looked Fuu over carefully, taking a few breaths before speaking again, "We live in a small village down the river. It has known peace for many generations. Those who seek it, do so for its tranquility. They came to pray at the shrine by the river, where the spirit of Akita Nobumura watches over the village." She frowned. "Then a year ago, this band of murderers moved in. They took what they wanted, offering only fear and death in return." She glanced nervously around the quiet room. "They kill any samurai who try to enter the village as they might pose a threat. So, Seijun under they guise of a conference, is here looking for strong men to help us." She shook her head. "No one wants to get involved."

She suddenly leaned forward, grasping Fuu's hand. "We could offer you and your companion—"

"Mugen's not, I mean we aren't—"

"A place to live and an income if he would run these monsters out of our village."

"It sounds like you are trading one tyrant for another," Fuu said softly.  
"Anything is better than what we have now."

"I don't know—"

"Please, I've never seen a man like your friend. No single man could have taken those thugs out with such ease."

"Well, Mugen does like to fight, but I don't know."

* * *

**roterritter** - Thanks! **Barbara Akers** - Thank you so much! I'm glad you are enjoying it. **Silver Purity** - You'll have to be patient a little bit longer, but I promise, you'll get to see how everything and everyone tie in together soon. 

**A/N** - This chapter is a little short, but I wanted to get it posted, and another (much longer one) will be up in two days. Thank you all for the kind replies. I really appreciate them.

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - Seijun's connections.  
_


	13. Treacherous Thoughts

**Chapter Twelve: Treacherous Thoughts**

The smell of food wafted up through the inn and into the large room commonly shared by members of the Shinku Kiba. They controlled the entire upper level, but often congregated in the largest of the rooms for meals and discussion.

Cool air blew in through the open screens, revealing the balcony and the small village that spread out before it.

Empty sake jugs and smashed pottery littered the floor after the long night waiting as their friend Yamainu succumbed to his wounds in the next room over.

Perched on a mountain of floor pillows and bolts of horded silk strung out across the corner, Kaitou surveyed the room. Her pale lips turned downward. "What will we do now?" she asked, tugging at the white kimono loosely draped over her lithe form.

Hisuiiro turned from his place at the edge of the balcony and studied his young companion with a thin veil of contempt.

"Yaminu and Kyoudai are dead. We are now," she paused to count on her fingers, "five."

"And no matter how many times you mention it, nothing will change," Hisuiiro said wearily. "We are just as strong as a band of five as we were seven."

"But one man killed both of them. What if—"

The words died on her lips under Hisuiiro's icy look. In the distance, the steady rhythm of hammer to wood, as the local cooper worked, filled the quiet morning. "Tonight, we will mourn out friends and celebrate their lives," the leader said then chased the words with the last of the sake from the jug he held.

Stretching across the pillows, Kaitou fingered the smooth body of a sheathed tanto. "Will you celebrate my life when I die?" she asked softly.

Hisuiiro did not answer.

With a huff, Kaitou sat up again and looked about her belongings. "Should I dress in a flowery kimono like a girl or dress as usual?"

"I thought you were in mourning?"

"It doesn't mean I can't be pretty and mourn at the same time. How would you like me dressed?" she purred as she got up and approached him. She followed his gaze toward the doctor's house. "Forget about that woman. She's married and old." She wrapped her hands around his arm and clung to him. "I don't know what you see in her. I can be so much more entertaining. I can do anything to please you. What would make you happy?"

Hisuiiro slowly drew his gaze from the street and stared coolly at Kaitou. "What would make me happy? I would be happy if you would just shut up." With that he shoved her so hard, that she lost her balance, tumbling into the debris strewn about the floor.

"You bastard!" she screamed as she grabbed a jug and pitched it toward him. It smashed against the wall where Hisuiiro had been. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to her feet, scooping up her clothing as she went. "That old woman!" she snarled as she pitched a sandal toward the door. It smacked against Hagetaka's chest and nearly smashed a small red flower sticking out of the top of his light chest plate.

He stared dully down at the sandal on the floor.

"Sorry," Kaitou said dropping her stuff before flopping down in the pile of pillows again.

Beads rattled against each other as Hagetaka knelt and picked up the sandal, and then carried it across the chamber setting it down next to its companion. He remained there for a moment, studying Kaitou's mournful look. "I do not know why you fawn over him so much. "

"Is there nothing I can do to get his attention?"

"Hisuiiro doesn't care about you," came the plain response.

Which was, without question, the truth. Hisuiiro would have left her among the dead several years ago if he had not intervened and convinced the leader to let the girl follow them, that she could be used as a spy.

Freeing the flower from his chest plate he handed it off to the girl. "Here, you can look pretty while you mourn our friends."

She smiled and took the small plant, little more than a lovely weed that often appeared at the side of the road but it had managed to bloom and not drown in the incessant rain. Which must have meant something, Hagetaka thought.

Rising, he turned to look over the mess of the room. He would mourn his friends alongside the others, but the deaths of Yamainu and Kyoudai was equally auspicious. He could finally move forward on his plans.

The brothers had long supported Hisuiiro's leadership but without them he could move to push Hisuiiro out.

Kaitou reached for a flowery ornamented comb and started to tend to her long hair. "All he does is watch that woman. What does he need her for when he has me?" Settling on the open balcony, Hagetaka stared through the railing toward the doctor's house. All was quiet now, but he was certain there was much activity going on inside, more than tending to a wounded farmer was going on there. "Are you jealous?" he asked with a laugh as he glanced back over his shoulder. For a while he studied Kaitou as she carefully drew her hair up into a high knot. Doing that made her look like a boy, but he knew that was the intended effect. When she stood to dress, he turned his attention back to the street. "We should kill that woman. Punish her for praying at the shrine and bringing a ronin here."

"That's not what Hisuiiro wants."

"My faith in him weakens every passing day. He has imprisoned us here. We should be kings, not lording over some country village." With rain still lingering in the air, the usually busy street was a little sparse. Though it did not bother him, it just made it easier to see the comings and goings.

"You don't even act sad that they are dead."

"I am not a woman." Hagetaka frowned when he heard the rustle of cloth cease and knew he had raised her ire. "They took on an opponent who was better than them. That is always the risk in our way of life." He fingered a string of wooden beads that hung around his neck and spoke softly, "He must have been a duelist. Something they weren't used to."

"What?"

"They had gone soft rotting in this village. We will all end up like them soon if we do not get out."

"Hisuiiro does not want to leave."

"Why does he get sole say?"

"He is our leader." There was a pause and Kaitou spoke up again. "You are talking treachery again."

"I am being a realist. Hisuiiro has failed us."

* * *

**rotterriter** - It doesn't take much to make Mugen happy: Food, Females and Fighting. **Elementray Magpie** - Thank you very much! **meow** - Thanks! **Silver Purity** - You'll learn about Seijun...in the next post. **poornmiserable** - Ooops, this one is a little short too, but I'll make up for it with a post Friday...really, I mean it this time! (It's already written.) 

A/N - Between DRL and paying off a fanfic debt. (Never make bets with evil people where the prize is a vignette of the winner's choice. They will always make it as difficult a possible.)

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - About Seijun...really!  
_


	14. When Once Were

**Chapter Thirteen: When Once Were**

There was a time when every breathing moment of Matsuura Kiyohito's life had balanced on the edge of sword. When he was a younger man, he could imagine no life without his daisho at his side, but now as an older man, that life seemed but a fanciful tale and he no longer recognized the man he had been.

Once he was a soldier in the service of a notable lord. He policed the lands and kept the peace all on the tip of his blade. But that was a long time ago.

No longer able to bear the weight of his swords, he and Shiori traveled throughout the countryside seeking what work they could until they arrived at Torikorosu and were taken under the wing of a kindly old village doctor looking for a successor.

Decades later, after long since shuffling off the skin of Matsuura Kiyohito, he was just Seijun now, a small village doctor. Never once had he regretted becoming old Kozoburo's student. He had enjoyed the simple life of Torikorosu and its kind people. With Shiori always at his side, it had been a fulfilling life.

There was nothing he would trade it for.

Voices from deep within the jail brought him from his thoughts to the moment. He was alone in an administrator's office. A subordinate had gone in search of the Yohada captain that had seen to Mugen's arrest.

He could honestly say it was the first time that he had ever been within a jail. He had often passed by and certainly never had the occasion to be incarcerated.

Glancing about, he looked out the window that stared out at another window of a neighboring building. Sunlight splashed across the floor and along one of the walls, giving the three yellow banners hanging from it a warm glow. Even the desk before him was neatly organized, though he would not expect less of Ikuei, Kozoburo's son-in-law.

He was confident Ikuei would understand and set the young man free.

A sound from the corridor drew his attention, but with the screen drawn across the opening, he could not see what was happening. He wished Ikuei would hurry and arrive. He was eager to see to Umeko and make sure that she was all right.

Thoughts of his companion faded as he spied a wooden rack on the same wall the door shared. Laid across two rows, was an elegant daisho. The saya of the wakizashi and the katana were polished blood red.

Rising slowly, his joints creaking, he crossed the room to stand before the displayed weapons. Along the varnished body of each was written: _I make awareness my home_. The line was finished with a circle with three black diamonds bursting it, the Sono crest.

"Beautiful, no?"

Seijun turned to find Ikuei standing in the opened doorway. He was shocked that he had not noticed the man's entrance. "Forgive me," he said, retreating slightly as he lowered his head.

"I can't fault a man for appreciating fine weapons. It may be the only time you'll see one like it," he added.

"Oh?" Seijun asked as he turned to follow Ikuei back to desk.

Settling behind the desk, Ikuei explained, "An old drunkard wandered in about two years ago. He was trouble; never sober long enough to be worth anything but a laugh. No different than a dozen men we have locked up now, except," he motioned toward the swords, "for those."

Seijun looked back at the swords.

"That's not something anyone in their right mind would flash around."

The words drew the doctor's attention back to Ikuei. He had never known the man to mince words and waited.

Ikuei laughed. "Tell me, you don't know about that?"

Waving a hand before his face, Seijun said no. "We are fairly isolated in Torikorosu."

"This has been sixteen or seventeen years since the quelling, maybe more, I'm not sure."

_Quelling._

Ikuei just looked at him. "I thought everyone had heard."

"I would be interested in hearing about this quelling. It has been many, many years since I passed through Sono domain. It used to be very beautiful."

"The land is still the same," the captain replied. "It is everything else that is different. I heard things had long been going downhill for years, ever since the old lord's daughter was flung off of a cliff by her kidnapper."

The words slipped past Seijun, he had suspected he and Shiori's deaths would be told in a much more cruel tongue, he as her murderer and she his victim, but suspecting and hearing were two different things.

"Sono had half the men whom he had sent to rescue his daughter put to death, the price for their failure. Then he became paranoid about the others, accused them of conspiring with the Nishi to take control of the domain. He declared war against the Nishi, even accused the shogun of conspiring to destroy the Sono."

Seijun frowned. "I had not heard about this." The benefits of ignorance, he thought.

Flipping through some records lying on the desk, Ikuei went on, "As I understand it, Lord Sono had gone mad. There was infighting and the clan fractured between those loyal to Lord Sono and those loyal to his nephew, who would have succeeded him."

"Ujimura," Seijun said, remembering the tall boy.

"That's the name. I thought you didn't know—"

"Names I had picked up when I last was there, decades ago."

"Ah. Yes, old Sono just had that one daughter." Ikuei pushed the records off to the side as he looked Seijun over. "I guess Sono struck a deal with the Okata and the Fuwara clans to help bring order. Anyone declared disloyal were put to death along with every member of their immediate family. He also had villagers killed and I hear even burned the temples that had protected family of those who had sided with Ujimura. By the time the shogun had stepped in… well, let's just say there are more dead than living in Sono domain now."

"I see."

"No one carries the Sono crest, at least not in this part of the country. The name is like poison."

Seijun wondered if things would have been different if he and Shiori had not run off, but that was a question no amount of pondering could answer. Still, it did not settle well knowing that his actions could have resulted in so many lives taken, even after he had sworn that he would take no lives and had been careful during their escape to not inflict mortal wounds.

Yet, he understood that even the smallest of scratches could become infected and kill.

"Is it me, or has Kozoburo grown more crotchety these days?" Ikuei asked, breaking the pall that had descended over the room.

Seijun smiled. "I thought he was always like that." Quiet reality crept into his voice, "He refuses to die, but I wonder if this will not be the last chance I will have to visit with him."

"That too, is what I fear," Ikuei said.

"It reminds me that I, too, am getting old."

"Aren't we all?" The captain laughed then fiddled with a ring of keys hanging near the desk. Pulling them from the hook, he asked, "And this man, Mugen, we arrested?"

"He was all that stood between us and those three thugs."

"Still," Ikuei said as he stated to stand up, "I don't like unauthorized killing in my city."

"He will leave with me and I promise he will not return." Seijun rose and followed the captain toward the door, but paused one last time to look at the daisho displayed on the wall.

"We might not have been so rough on him if we had known he was your man."

Entering into the maze of halls and chambers, Seijun quickly found himself in a narrow corridor lined with cells. He followed a few steps behind the yellow clad man, glancing into the various cells. When he spied Mugen stretched out uncomfortably across the floor, a smile drew across his face. Any man that could take binding and imprisonment in such stride was just the kind of man he was looking for. "Something tells me he can handle the abuse just fine."

"Keep it down," Mugen grumbled before kicking his feet out and rolling uncomfortably over on his side. His bound arms were red with an impression of the rough floor. "Some people are trying to sleep here."

With a dower look, Seijun folded his arms across his chest. "Yes, this young man is certainly under my watch. Will he get his weapon back?"

"In your care until you both leave the city limits," Ikuei said. "Try to keep him from killing anyone the next few days. I may not be so kind the next time."

"Understood."

Mugen's eyes slid open but he otherwise did not move as the captain unlocked the door. "You owe me, old man."

Seijun grinned. "I always make good on my debts. Let them unbind you and we will head for the nearest teahouse where we can talk business."

* * *

roterriter - See? I got a chapter up:p

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - Wonderings and Memories._


	15. Connections

**Chapter Fourteen: Connections**

Orange lamplight flickered, casting stark shadows against the walls of the small private chamber deep within Shiori's home. Humming softly, she worked her fingers over the soft silk of a blue-grey gi that spilled over her lap and studied the history of damage it had sustained.

The patter of rain against the roof drew her gaze upward. "When will this rain ever end?" she asked as she listened to the sound become louder, more steady. In the many years she had lived there, she had never known it to rain so much and wondered why it seemed the heavens wept so. "I pray it stops soon. Seijun and Umeko should not have to travel in the rain." She feared the cold would make Seijun take ill as he rarely prepared for the ill-tempered weather and would be more concerned with Umeko's care than his own.

Beyond the warm glow of the large lamp in the center of the room, her guest still slept. Though she knew it would be several days at best before he woke.

At least, that was what she hoped; Seijun would be home by then.

Turning her attention back to the freshly cleaned silk, she carefully studied the long gashes in the cloth. Her nimble fingers found other cuts that had been carefully repaired, not easily seen with the casual eye.

"You are very hard on clothing," she said. "Though, it is not like I have sewn shredded cloth before. I often tended my father's robes after skirmishes." Still, she thought as she held up the gi and studied the long cuts in it. "I don't know if this is worth saving. It's not really your color. I will check tomorrow and see if Machi has any indigo in stock. That is a far more appropriate color, I would say." She turned the tortured gi about again and frowned. "No crest? Why, Karasu?"

• • •

_Butterflies. _

_ They were everywhere, dancing in the sky, fluttering about the myriad of brightly colored flowers that filled the garden within the protective walls that surrounded the dojo. _

_With Youhei's urging, Jin had raced into the garden, happy to find something that reminded him of home. The journey across the countryside had been long and old Youhei had been so nervous. On more than one occasion, the priest his shoved him into thorny bushes on the side of the road and told him to be quiet when horsemen rode by. The old man seemed to quiver with fear all along their journey and Jin did not understand way. All he knew was that finally they had arrived at their destination. _

_Surrounded by so many different butterflies, large and small, he forgot the long journey and how walking so much had made his feet hurt. He forgot about the tears in the dingy haori that Youhei had cut to fit his small frame. All that mattered were the pretty bugs that collected on his head and shoulders. _

_ Laughter escaped him as he reached out, allowing butterflies to land on his small hands. A large blue and black butterfly lighted on a chubby finger. It moved, shifting with his hand as he drew it close to study the intricate patter painted on delicate wings. _

_ The moment was broken with the roar of a voice, "I will hear no more, old man!"_

_ The moment of startle made the butterflies flutter away but it did not take very long before they gathered again, but Jin didn't see them, his gaze was focused on the veranda as a tall man—a samurai—stormed away from the priest. _

_ The image was forever imprinted on his mind, as this was the first time he saw Mariya Enshiro, the man who would become his master. _

_ Youhei hobbled after the man, the distance growing with every step. "I see that stubbornness is a family trait!" he snapped. _

_ Enshiro stopped and turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at the old man. There was something fierce and dangerous about him. It was frightening and yet, Jin stood there, transfixed on the moment as the samurai's hand rose, floating close to the hilt of his katana. "I grow weary of you."_

_ "Ill-tempered," Youhei muttered. "Idle threats do not frighten me, there are more frightening things in this world. That must be your father's blood speaking." He shifted, trembling slightly but his gaze did not waver from the man only a few paces away. "You think I wanted to travel so far? I am too old for this," he spat. "I am here at the behest of your brother."_

_ "I am not interested," Enshiro sternly said.  
_

_ "Whatever strife that was between you two, you can now put it to rest. There is no reason to cling to old grudges."_

_ "There will never be enough time—"_

_ "I might as well be addressing a rock," Youhei grumbled as he reached up and brushed the short, gray hairs that had sprouted over his normally shaven head during their journey. _

_ Jin watched curiously as Youhei then dug into the folds of his robes and pulled out the folded piece of paper he had shown him in the temple the night they had left. It was crumpled and the ink looked smeared but he was certain it was the same piece of paper. _

_ Thrusting his hand out, holding the paper between he and the samurai, Youhei just stood there, waiting to be relieved of the burden. "Your brother is dead and I have been charged to deliver this letter and," with a frown, he motioned toward Jin in the garden, "that butterfly covered boy to you."_

_ Enshiro turned to face Jin for the first time. He looked so tall standing there. He reminded the boy of his father, standing there so forebodingly._

_ The crinkle of paper sounded as Youhei stepped forward, his arthritic hand held out toward the master._

_ Time seemed to slow as the samurai took the paper, tearing open the seal and studied the writing. His sharp gaze met Jin's. _

Through the fog, the flickering beacon of the lamp drew Jin's pained dulled mind. For a time, all he did was focus on the changing brightness of the warm glow. His body felt so heavy, even his eyelids seemed weighted down, refusing to open. The burn of slash wounds reminded him of his predicament. It was rather disconcerting, the helplessness of it, even if it was dry and warm.

_ Swords. Where are my swords?_

Not that they would have done him much good, but not knowing where they were. His very soul.

Helplessness.

He did not like this feeling.

That sense of alarm crept into him, though he sensed, that there was no real reason to feel that way. That he was not in danger. It gave him the strength to hold onto that last bit of consciousness, even when his weariness threatened to pull him back down into the darkened fog.

"It is late," came that soft, female voice that had been slipping in and out of his dreams. To his side, he heard the rustle of cloth and the crack of bones as someone, probably that woman moved about. Footsteps.

The glow of the lamp brightened, almost hurting his eyes as he squeezed them closed briefly before once more attempting to open them. The room was dim and the sound of rain thrummed in the distance.

With his vision slowly coming into focus, he spied movement out of the corner of his eye. Near the lamp stood the woman from the clearing.

"Karasu?" she whispered in surprise.

_Why did she keep calling him that?_

He would set her right.

Only in his weighted down state, he found he had no voice. It took almost more strength than he had to form words with his lips.

Struggling to keep his eyes open as she approached, he tried once more to say something, anything. Still his voice eluded him. The attempts made his chest and side ache. Forcing his eyes wide once more, he found the woman was so much closer now, kneeling next to him.

"How can you be awake after everything that has happened?"

_I will not lie here helpless._

The woman's fingers tickled as they brushed along his cheek, pushing back loose strands of hair. Her touch was warm, yet strange. He was not accustomed to strangers, let alone those whom he was familiar with, invading his personal space so.

Though as the exhaustion pulled on him, he thought her touch, a warm hand against his forehead, was not all that unpleasant. There was something kind about it.

He should thank her for the kindness she had shown and perhaps the peril that she had put herself into. "Thank you—"

"No," she said, cutting him off. "Do not speak, save your strength."

Around him, he felt the warm covers shift as she pulled them up slightly. He tried to force the words again.

"You're welcome," came the gentle reply. "If you killed Kyoudai and Yamainu, then I should be thanking you."

The men he had fought on the bridge, he thought. Briefly remembering the fight and the icy river that tried to drown him.

"You must rest," she urged, "Karasu."

_That name again!_

"Why do you…" he tried to ask, the words straining then fading.

"Forgive me," she whispered, uncertainty flooding her voice. "You just reminded me of—"

"…call me by my father's name?"

* * *

**roterritter** - You'll get a lot more of Seijun's POV in coming posts. **Elementary Magpie** - "the strands are beginning to weave together" A very interesting observation... **Silver Purity** - Hagetaka is an interesting member, isn't he? And thank you very much! **Ladyshalott** - Thank you! Glad you're reading.

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - Breakfast plans. Mugen takes a job.  
_


	16. The Bad Old Times

**Chapter Fifteen: The Bad Old Times**

Steam rolled up, curling through the warm, damp bath chamber as Fuu padded across the water-splattered floor, humming softly to herself. She reveled in feeling so clean. She was normally a clean person, but there was a certain joy that came from soaking in a hot bath until her skin was wrinkled that nothing else could replace.

Drawing on the soft, white kimono that she had been given while her pink one was cleaned, she paused just to enjoy the moment before she attacked her hair with the towel, soaking up the last few drops of water that clung to the tips.

Allowing her damp brown locks to fall over her shoulders, she checked to make sure all of the dried crust was gone. Content that she was as clean as she could get, a happy sigh escaped her as she folded the towel over her arm and gathered up her few belongings that she had carried into the bath.

"Now this is the life," she said happily as she wandered through the corridors back up to the room that Umeko had requested from the innkeeper for her.

A small part of Fuu felt guilty for the kindness that Umeko had lavished on her. After all, she had paid for that wonderful lunch and now for a room in a decent inn. Far better than many she, Mugen and Jin had scraped money together for during their search for the samurai who smelled of sunflowers.

Of course, Fuu had to admit that after only a day on the road, in the rain, that romanticism about traveling in the wide open wasn't nearly as enjoyable as she had imagined. It was often miserable, dirty, and uncomfortable.

Sliding the door open to her room, that feeling of content that had filled her after her bath immediately soured. Fury raced through her as she aimed her finger, like a weapon, toward the figure in the center of the room. "Hey, those were mine!"

Sprawled across the floor, with his red jacket wadded up as a pillow, lay Mugen. Two wooden skewers shifted as he chewed on the ends. They were all that remained of the yakimanju Fuu had saved as a late snack. His muddy geta were roughly discarded right in front of the door and Fuu had to stop or risk tripping over them.

"What?" he growled, spitting the sticks out. They clattered to the floor as he sat up and scratched behind his ear.

"Those were," she sighed and clutched her abdomen as her stomach growled. "Oh, never mind." Stepping around the geta, she approached the rest of her belongings, including a fat little squirrel asleep on one of her sandals. Kneeling down, she brushed her finger across Momo's soft belly earning a cheerful squeak.

"You should have protected my evening snack," she grumbled and Momo responded with another happy noise. Sinking down against the wall, Fuu sighed as she stared at the empty plate, and then made herself fold the towel and set it aside.

A grimace scrunched her nose when she spied the two futons laid side-by-side and decided that she would have to fix that. She wasn't sleeping that close to Mugen, no way.

He snored.

Well, that's what she remembered anyway.

"They really are nice to us, getting us this room," Fuu said cautiously, wondering if Seijun had questioned Mugen like Umeko had her.

Mugen grunted.

She looked up, but couldn't tell what he was thinking, if anything at all. Then she decided whatever it was, she probably didn't want to know. That pervert.

"The old man's looking for a bodyguard," he responded after a short stretch of silence.

Just as she had suspected after hearing Umeko's story that they wanted Mugen's sword. He was a strong fighter. He could be rather mercenary for the right price. It was an obvious question, one with an equally obvious answer: "Are you going to do it?"

A dark smile pulled at Mugen's lips. He didn't look at her. "Yeah."

"Oh."

With a snort, Mugen said, "Don't worry, you can tag along."

"I wasn't worried," she sharply replied. Why would he think she was worried? She wasn't some child who needed someone to look after her. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. "Tag along," she muttered to herself. "If it wasn't for me you would never have had to help them and been offered a job."

Mugen said nothing, which only bothered Fuu more. She half wanted him to tell her she was stupid. Silence lingered as Mugen used the end of a wooden skewer to pick at his teeth and Fuu played with the hem of her kimono.

The way Umeko had spoken about the gang that had invaded their village, they were really strong. Mugen was good, but he was just one man.

Her concern floated on a soft, questioning voice, "I wonder where Jin is."

Mugen just shrugged.

For a time, she just stared at him, wondering if he was thinking the same thing.

"Do you think we'll run into him? I mean we found each other again. The two of you, those thugs would never stand a chance—"

"I hear rumors," he said softly after a long hesitation. As if he had not heard the rest of it.

Fuu brightened as she waited for him to tell her. When he said nothing, she demanded, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Rumors, you said you heard rumors."

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I heard some samurai talking about a guy in grey who's supposed to be a strong swordsman."

Fuu frowned. "Is that all?"

"I didn't say it was good."

"Hrmph," Fuu huffed as she folded her arms across her chest. "I just hope he's okay. I've just been worried."

"Did you worry about me?" Mugen snarled before rolling onto his side with has back to her.

"I hoped someone would take pity on you and give you bath!" she snapped. Sinking back into her place against the wall, she sighed and hung her head low. Something tugged on her kimono and she looked down to see Momo sitting on her knee. A questioning squeak drew a smile from the girl. "Sorry, Momo."

Mugen was already snoring.

"I'm just worried is all." Brushing her fingers over Momo's little head she tried to push the heaviness in her heart away. That was something else that she didn't miss from their journey, that worry that something would happen to either Mugen or Jin.

She didn't want to worry or be responsible, worse, she didn't want to wait, not knowing if they would be back. At least, when they parted, she could write imaginary, happy fates for them.

* * *

**roterritter** - Sorry about that! **Miyu 14** - Thanks! SilverPurity - Serious cliffhanger? Not yet. This is just a little hill. **poornmiserable** - Thank you so much! **Esther** - Mush has its place and every loves a little now and again, but I also don't get the whole romance thing, at least not with a combination of the mains. I just see great, deep friendships that is so much stronger than that. (Even if they won't admit it.) **LadyShalott **- Thanks! 

**A/N** - Sorry about the gaps in posting. I'm trying to get back to a regular posting schedule so you'll be getting several shorter (but just as entertaining) chapters for a while. Thank you everyone for the kind replies, I really do appreciate them. While I write for myself, it is nice to hear from others what they think.

* * *

_**Next Chapter **- Flashback. The Quality of Silence._  



	17. The Quality of Noise

**Chapter Sixteen: The Quality of Noise**

_"Idiot!"_

_ "You skinny little—"_

_ The retort was cut off by Fuu's shrill scream._

_ A pear whipped past Jin's ear, so close he could feel the breeze. It was quickly followed by a sickening thud and then an utterly incomprehensible string of curses from Mugen. _

_ It was best, the samurai silently thought, not to waste energy on deciphering the noises. They had been walking with barely a break since sunrise, Fuu was eager to get to the next village, which they should have arrived at hours ago. At least, that had been his understanding._

_ A gentle breeze shifted through the leaves of the fruit tree that stretched across the narrow road. The warmth in the air did little for his weariness and he could not understand how the other two could expend so much energy fighting each other. _

_ "Serves you right," Fuu growled as she launched another pear she had pulled from a low hanging tree branch._

_ Shifting out of the way of the wildly thrown fruit, Jin was a first content to let it fly past, hoping it would catch Mugen between the eyes. They could use the break and if Mugen was unconscious, well, there was something to be said about the quality of quiet._

_ The girl and the wild man had been screaming at each other for most of the day. Ever since their early morning arousal by the local magistrate, looking to have them arrested for Mugen's late night activities._

_ "You! You!" Fuu screamed as she armed herself again. "Jerk!"  
As the third pear flew passed, Jin snatched it out of the air. Ignore the light bruising, probably from Fuu's fierce grip; he bit into the crisp flesh. The sweet fruit was good on an empty stomach._

_ "Hey!" the girl yelped even as Mugen laughed. _

_ Glancing over his shoulder, Jin noted Mugen dancing about like a monkey. His mouth filled with a pear. Feeling it safer anywhere but between the two, Jin stepped to the edge of the road, taking in the shelter of the large tree. _

_ Biting the fruit in half, Mugen spit out the remains and motioned toward Fuu. "Is that all you got?" Juice and chewed bits rained out of his open mouth as he went on. "This is your fault," he said. "You picked the road."_

_ Deciding they were going to be there for a while, Jin found a nice grassy patch. Freeing the saya of his long sword, he sank down next to the tree allowing the hilt to rest against his shoulder as he took his time with pear he had rescued. He could almost see the smoke roiling off the top of Fuu's head. Her hands were clenched so tight, her knuckles had left all color. _

_ Fuu's shoulders were rigid and her stance reminded him of the farm boy's he had often seen about while growing up just before they launched themselves into a fight. It was an inelegant posture. Awkward. One that supported a child whose only skill was to swing his fists in hope his mere strength would defeat his opponent._

_ While a comfortable distance away stood Mugen. He seemed not to notice Fuu's barely contained rage. No, Jin decided, that was an incorrect assessment. The wild man from Ryukyu knew quite well Fuu's emotional state. He had done all he could to provoke it, though her impending wrath seemed not to disturb him. _

_ He scratched like a dog at its fleas. _

_ Mugen scoffed as Fuu boiled over. It seemed that he was only happy when he was provoking a response, any kind of response out of people. And Fuu was always so easy to get riled up. Though, Jin admitted, on more occasions than he would have preferred, he had also fallen into Mugen's trap and responded to the baits. _

_ It reminded him of Tatsunoshin and Kazunosuke. In their desire for attention, they would take the good with the bad and try the patience of even their serene father. _

_ Watching Mugen and Fuu square off, he was only now starting to appreciate Master Niwa's calm mind and teachings. Though he suspected even these two would try the master's patience. _

_ "You're just mad because you got us lost," Mugen teased. _

_ Fuu's gaze narrowed as she reached up and plucked a fresh, round fruit from a low hanging branch. "We wouldn't have had to take this road if you didn't get us run out of the village."_

_ "They cheated me!"_

_ "Idiot!" Fuu screamed. She drew her arm back to launch the fruit but paused. Her shoulders sagged as her gaze fell to the uneven road. "I give up," she whispered._

_ Mugen smirked. "Ha!" He clomped across the hardened earth, grabbing the pear out of Fuu's hand as he went. _

_ A soft noise escaped her, but she said nothing, just reached up and grabbed another pear. Spinning quickly about, she pitched the fruit at the back of Mugen's head, hitting her target. _

_ "Hey!" _

_ "Don't sleep too light," she murmured as she grabbed another pear. She then spun about and smiled at Jin, all remnants of her fury seemed to dissipate as she took a big bite._

_ Rising to his feet, Jin brushed off the loose pieces of grass that clung to his hakuma and slid his long sword back into place next to the wakizashi. Stepping back onto the road, he noted that Fuu did not rush off to catch up with Mugen. When he approached, she fell into step behind him, after only a few paces, he felt the familiar tug on his sleeve as Fuu held on to it like she was accustomed to do._

_ Why, he was unsure, but doubted it did much harm._

_ "I'll never get him," she whispered._

_ "Hmm."_

_

* * *

_  
Jin did not need to open his eyes to know the woman was still there in silent vigil. He could hear the gentle rise and fall of her breaths.

Just like he remembered Fuu's in the middle of the night.

To be so full of bubbling energy, she was often a restless sleeper. It seemed no matter where they found shelter, her sleep patterns were the same. She would stare out at the moon from the balcony of whatever inn they managed to scrounge enough money for or in the forest, she would wander from the safety of the fire and sit alone.

As a light sleeper, he was always aware of her movements, but rarely ever intruded upon her. Rarely did he know what to say even if he did.

He did not miss the uncertainty, never knowing what to say, even when he thought he should say something, but he did miss her quiet presence. He even missed the loud, obnoxious sounds Mugen made as he slept sprawled out across the floor.

It was strange. So often he had craved the quiet with his two companions and now, alone, he craved the noise.

* * *

**roterritter** - Thanks! **poornmiserable** - Mugen jealous? He'd never admit it. **dupidnavagog** - You are right on both accounts. Crow/raven and you'll just have to wait and see... **Krows Scared** - Thank you very much! I hope this update is quick enough. 

**A/N** - Thank you everone for the kind replies, I really do appreciate hearing from readers. I'm aiming for a Wednesday and a Friday post this week, so cross your fingers. :p

* * *

_**Next Chapter **- Shiori's fears._  



	18. The Price of Betrayal

**Chapter Seventeen: The Price of Betrayal**

Consigned to the fact that no answers would be found this night, Shiori reluctantly rose from her vigil, but was in no hurry to leave the sickroom.

_Father_, she thought as she furrowed her brows in confusion. It made no sense. She tried to tell herself that she had misheard him. It would have been so easy. His voice had been so soft and her hearing not always that good coupled with the stress of the day had played tricks on her mind.

With a long exhale Shiori shook off the silliness that had consumed her for so much of the day. Seijun—no, Kiyohito—had killed _him_. She had watched him fall before her, the moonlight reflecting in his dying eyes.

She never blamed her husband for what he did.

Looking upon the sleeping man, she knew that he was far too young to be _his_ son. That was so many years ago. It was only her fervent wish that help would come to save her village that she had forced an image of the past upon this ronin.

It was late, she knew, and she was tired. Her bones weary from the day and the constant rain. She needed sleep. Stepping close to the lantern to put the light out, she paused wanting to look back at her guest one last time but deciding she had spent enough time there. The last thing she needed to do was give more rise to doubt.

With the light extinguished, darkness flooded the chamber but it did not hinder her. Familiarity guided her out into the corridor and toward the other private sleeping chamber, separated from the more common areas of the large house.

Stopping in the hall, she turned and looked back toward the room, but there was only darkness and quiet. Her hands rung together as she listened to the muffled sound of the rain.

For the first time in years, the memory of her father's strong voice touched her. _These are warriors, _her father had once said._ These men you do not love. They are incapable of it. They know only obedience, death and the sword. _

_ They are not for you._

"And if," she whispered as she stared toward the room. Tears burned in her eyes and flooded down her cheeks. "Where is he?"

A soft muttering filled the still night as Kaitou shifted, pressing tighter to Hagetaka's shoulder. She wrapped entwined her fingers in a string of wooden beads that hung around his neck even as she whimpered in her sleep.

Opening his eyes, the shaven-headed member of the Shinku Kiba stared down at the sleeping girl. He wondered what she dreamed about.

Even with her armor thrown off, Kaitou still carried the appearance of a teenage boy. Her forelocks brushing along her pale cheek as she whispered something he could not quite make out. Sticking out of her tied back hair was the flower he had given her earlier.

She was warm against his body, a perfect compliment to the cool breeze that drifted in through the open door at the balcony.

From his place propped against the wall, he could see most of the common room. He quietly noted Guma's absence, but was unconcerned. The bear of a man had chosen to stay next to Kyoudai and Yamainu's burial site to mourn his friends in private. For such a big brute, he really was soft hearted, weeping for his friends.

Hagetaka's dark eyes sought out the only other figure in the room, Hisuiiro. The man sat by the balcony, his hand resting on a sake jug as he stared out into the street.

_Fool!_ He silently thought glaring at the man that had trapped them in this miserable village.

He wanted to take Kaitou and Guma and leave at the first opportunity, but he doubted they would abandon their leader so easily. Their loyalty was admirable but the man was weak. He also knew that if he were the one to cut Hisuiiro down, he would fracture their trust.

If only the brothers had not been so lucky to meet the ronin at the bridge, he could have used Hisuiiro's pride to goad him into fighting. He doubted Hisuiiro would have won that crossing of swords.

That destiny was not to be and no matter how much thinking he did, it would not change things. All he could do was engineer a situation where Hisuiiro could not win.

Staring beyond the balcony rails, he stared into the darkness and thought of the old woman who seemed to possess their leader. The more he thought about her, the less he wanted to kill her. No, he could use her against Hisuiiro and he knew just how.

Kaitou shifted again. "Shu…mmm."

Brushing a finger across her soft features, Hagetaka pushed back the dark hair revealing closed eyes. "Have you ever been to Aki?" he whispered. "I think you would like it there."

Yes, they would go to Aki soon.

* * *

**Krows Scared** - Thanks!

* * *

_**Next Chapter** - Seijun's plan. _


End file.
